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In Sight of St. Paul’s 

BY 

SUTTON V -A 3 STEL 


A Novelization of the Celebrated Play now being 
Presented throughout the United States , by 

WILLIAM CALDER. 



NEW YORK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers 
29 Rose Street, 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1896, 

By Street & Smith, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
QlLl Rights Reserved. 


CONTENTS. 


rs 

& 


CHAPTER. PAGB 

I.— A Dangerous Beauty 7 

II. — Love Making Under Difficulties 32 

III. — Cross Purposes 44 

IV. — A Crushing Blow 58 

V. — Heart to Heart 75 

VI. — Broken Down 95 

VII.— The Aspasia Club 103 

VIII.— The Panther at Bay 121 

IX. — A Shot in the Dark 142 

X.- Aileen Falls Into the Trap , . . . 153 

XI. — The Last Link 168 

XII. — Birds of Prey 182 

XIII. — The Panther’s Birthday 194 

XIV. — Woman Against Woman 209 

XV.— Atonement 223 

XVI. — Waiting for the Verdict 240 

XVII. — Light At Last 249 






IN SIGHT OF ST. PAUL’S. 


CHAPTER I. 

A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 

Raymond street, a broad highway of no particular 
length, leading from the Thames Embankment, is, 
as a rule, a remarkably quiet thoroughfare, with its 
large, handsome, old-fashioned mansions and its gen- 
eral air of dignified prosperity. 

But, on a certain balmy night in June, not so many 
years ago, it presented a scene of unwonted life and 
gayety. Elegantly appointed equipages, filled with 
gentlemen in correct evening dress, and ladies 
gowned in the latest decoctions of London and Paris 
milliners, rolled over its pavements to deposit their 
inmates before the doors of the finest house in the 
street, a house which, with its awnings and steps car- 
peted with scarlet cloth, showed that it was the scene 
of some social entertainment of no small importance. 

The rich Mr. Chichester, who had recently taken 


8 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


possession of the abode in question, was giving a 
grand ball to celebrate the coming of age of his sec- 
ond and favorite son. 

The Chichester family consisted of Mr. Chichester 
the elder himself, two sons, — Tom, now about twenty- 
eight, and Harry, in whose honor the entertainment 
was being given — and a daughter, Gracie, about 
eighteen. With them lived also a daughter of Mr. 
Chichester’s deceased sister, a young girl named 
Aileen Millar. 

The Chichesters had not always been wealthy— far 
from it. In fact, until only a few years before our 
story opens, they had been very, very poor. 

They had resided in the North of England, living 
a hard, toiling, country existence, Mr. Chichester 
working away his life to keep his debts down to the 
lowest possible point out of a few acres of the poorest 
land, under the title of “gentleman farmer.” 

Mr. Chichester, impoverished though he was, came 
of an excellent family, and was inordinately proud 
of it. 

But gentleman farmer ! What good did that title 
ever do him ? The turnips and beets swelled no larger 
through pride in their gentlemanly growers. The rye 
grew no higher, the corn was no stronger and heav- 
ier with the weight of obligations to the blue blood 
of their cultivators. 

Not a bit of it ! The contrary was quite the case. 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


9 


Bill Hodge, who drove his own plow, was an emperor 
compared to Tom Chichester. For the farmer who 
was not a gentleman flourished, while the gentleman 
who was not a farmer went to the wall. 

But jnst when things looked their worst, there 
came an astonishing change. 

Twenty years before, Mr. Chichester’s eldest 
brother, after borrowing from him every penny he 
possessed, went to Australia with a cargo of smug- 
gled lucifer matches and British brandy. At Ballarat, 
phosphorous and fire-water were at a premium. Their 
owner sold well, and bought better, converted claims 
into companies, led a respectable life, and finally, on 
his death-bed, among other sins, remembered his 
starving relations and his brother’s loan. Signing his 
will finished him. He died the best hated man in 
Melbourne, but one of the richest. 

The change to the Chichesters in England was 
enormous, and brought its results. Harry, his father’s 
pride and joy, was sent to college, the farm was sold 
to Hodge, who knew how to make it pay, and the 
rest of the family moved to London, where we now 
find them celebrating Harry’s birthday. 

Mr. Chichester had been lavish in his expenditure. 
Carte blanche had been given to the best caterers in 
London, the house was superbly decorated with flow- 
ers in and out of season, and bands of music, hidden 
behind palms, discoursed their sweetest strains. 


10 A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 

To crown all, the broad flat roof had been con- 
verted into a very bower of beauty, with myriads of 
colored lights, Chinese pagodas, rich rugs, and loung- 
ing chairs of every description. 

The view from here was superb, overlooking the 
magnificent city of London, with the dome of St. 
Paul’s, that masterpiece of Sir Christopher Wren, 
looming up grandly over all. 

Here, about ten o’clock in the evening, we shall 
find the hero of all this gorgeous display. 

Harry Chichester was a fine-looking young fellow, 
with a muscular figure, which showed that he had 
not neglected athletic sports at Oxford, from which 
he had just been graduated. There was a certain 
weakness, however, about the mouth and chin which, 
to a student of Lavater, would have marred his good 
looks. 

He was not alone upon the roof. With him was 
a woman of really marvelous beauty. She was 
tall, lithe, and dark, with hair as black and glossy as 
a raven’s wing, great, velvety, midnight eyes, that at 
times could flash and glitter curiously, and a clear 
olive complexion. When she walked, it was with an 
insinuating glide that reminded one irresistibly of 
some soft-footed denizen of a virgin forest. 

Her dress was an extraordinary combination of 
black and yellow, and upon her beautiful neck and in 


A DANGEliOUS BEAUTY.. 11 

tlie raven masses of her liair sparkled magnificent 
gems. 

Take her all in all, Cynthia Dell was a most allur- 
ing woman, and she knew it. She realized her own 
value, as more than one poor wretch ruined by her 
extravagance could have testified had he been so in- 
clined. 

Harry Chichester had been introduced to Mrs. Dell 
some six months before by one of his university 
friends, and, although he had a suspicion that her 
past life might not have been all it should be, from 
the very moment he first saw her, he fell madly in 
love with her. She was not a woman one could love 
with anything less than madness. The superb animal 
beauty of the woman made him forget all else, and 
he became her devoted slave, ready to believe any 
thing she chose to tell him of her past and pres- 
ent. 

Taking all things into consideration, there was. 
nothing strange in this, but what was unaccountable 
was the fact that she fell more or less in love with 
him. Although she had constantly played with and 
at the dangerous passion, till now her pulses had 
never beat one atom the quicker for any man. Many 
had believed that they possessed her heart, but none 
had ever done so. And now at thirty, she realized 
with a sensation, partly amazement, partly self-con- 
tempt, partly pleasure, that she was dangerously near 


12 


A BaNGEHOUs BEAUTY. 


caring very much for this handsome boy who was 
nearly ten years her junior. 

It was at Harry’s solicitation, and greatly to his 
brother Tom’s unspoken disgust, that Mrs. Dell had 
been invited to this ball to-night. 

At last the young host’s duties in receiving his 
guests were over, and he found himself alone with 
the one who had become all in all to him. 

He leaned over her 'as she half-reclined in nonchal- 
ant grace in a low lounging-chair, and drank in her 
beauty with his whole soul in his eyes. 

Mrs. Dell looked up at him with a smile. 

“At last, my dear Hairy,” she murmured, in soft, 
purring tones. “At last I can have you to myself for 
a few moments. Now explain, why scarcely one word 
all the evening ?’ ’ 

“It has not been my fault, Cynthia,” replied 
Harry, piteously. “You know that. ” 

She did know it, but she was not going to acknowl- 
edge it. 

She shrugged her gleaming shoulders, and a pout 
appeared upon her scarlet lips. Then she slowly 
twisted her lissome body toward him, and looked at 
him from under her half-closed lids with an expres- 
sion of reproach, which she had found effective upon 
more occasions than one. Was she serious? Perhaps. 
She could scarcely have told herself. She had been 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


13 


an actress so long- that she had almost lost the power 
to distinguish between the true and the false. 

But her voice was very plaintive, with an under- 
tone of rebuke, as she said : 

“You found plenty of opportunity to talk to that 
girl, Aileen Millar. ” She moved impatiently, and 
drew her breath with a hissing sound. “I hate her!” 

Harry flushed. 

“You are unjust !” he declared, passionately and 
truthfully. “Aileen is only my cousin.” 

Mrs. Dell laughed, showing her superb teeth, but 
it was not a pleasant laugh to hear. 

“Only your cousin !” she repeated, with a sneer 
she took no pains to conceal, wondering all the while 
if this sensation she felt could be really jealousy, an 
emotion of which she had frequently heard, but never 
before experienced. “Cousins, my dear boy, are al- 
ways dangerous. ’ ’ 

Harry saw that for some reason the beautiful wo- 
man, who had become the very sun of his existence, 
was out of temper, but he was not wise enough, as an 
older and more experienced man would have been, 
to draw a flattering deduction from this little ebulli- 
tion. 

He was silent for a moment, and then he said, in 
genuine trouble : 

“Haven’t I proved my love?” 


14 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


Mrs. Dell gave him one long look, full of concen- 
trated meaning, and then she answered, slowly : 

“Yes, once you did. I confess to it. But that love 
may have left you.” 

Harry started, almost as if he had been accused of 
a crime, and his companion, noticing the movement, 
smiled to herself, satisfied. 

“Why should you think so?” tremulously cried the 
boy, for he was little more than a boy after all, but a 
boy very much in love, with that overwhelming, un- 
reasoning, absorbing passion which does not come to 
us after we reach the years of discretion. “Have I 
not risked everything that I should have valued most ? 
My name, my honor, even my liberty, for your sake ? 
Oh!” with a gesture half appealing, half despairing, 
“I’ve become a tool in Gridston’s hands, and said yes 
to things that before I met you I should have dreaded 
even to think of. And now you accuse me of not 
loving you! You are wrong, Cynthia! It’s a shame! 
It’s ” 

Something very like a twinge of conscience passed 
through the woman’s breast as she listened to these 
words, and yet, even with much greater reason, re- 
morse hitherto had been a stranger to her. What will 
love not do? Surely the little naked boy, with his 
bow and arrows, has greater power than all the other 
divinities of Olympus put together. 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


15 


Cynthia raised one white, jeweled hand depre- 
catingly. 

‘ ‘ Hush ! hush !” she interrupted, gently. ‘ ‘ My boy, 
be prudent ! But, ’ ’ with a flash from her splendid 
dark eyes, which made poor Harry’s heart beat high 
with happiness, “you are forgiven.” 

Harry caught her hand, and pressed it passionately 
to his lips. 

“But be careful,” continued Mrs. Dell, after a mo- 
ment’s pause, and with an ominous tightening of her 
crimson lips. “Do not provoke me too far, or my love 
may turn to hate!” How well she knew herself! In 
that respect, she was certainly an apt disciple of old 
Socrates, though scarcely perhaps in the sense the 
philosopher meant when he enunciated his famous 
advice. “And if it does — beware!” 

“I don’t fear you, Cynthia,” replied Harry, with 
the abject confidence every youthful lover feels. 
“You could never be anything but good and beauti- 
ful in my eyes. ’ ’ 

For a moment, Mrs. Dell was silent. Her head was 
lowered just a little, and the rich color in her cheeks 
grew a trifle fainter. She was thinking to herself if 
this new, strange feeling which was stirring her 
bosom with a strength she could not overcome had 
only come to her earlier in life, before she had become 
so hardened and skeptical, what a different woman she 
might have been ! 


16 


A DANGE110US BEAUTY. 


But with an effort, she flung all this aside, and, 
uprearing her head, looked once more into the ardent 
face of the young man who was bending over her. 

“Do not be too sure!” she proclaimed, with a cer- 
tain bravado. “You know what they call me? Eh?” 

“Yes,” replied Harry, with a gesture of disbelief. 
‘The Panther!’ But you do not ” 

Cynthia Dell started to her feet, her black and 
golden draperies swaying about her. For once an im- 
pulse to tell the plain, unvarnished, even ugly, truth 
took possession of her, an impulse which was irre- 
sistible in its intensity. 

“You are wrong!” she cried, fiercely, her dark 
eyes gleaming and glowing like coals of fire. “You 
are wrong ! I do deserve it ! For, like the creature 
they name me after, I can be loving and grateful to 
those who treat me well ! But once deceived, once 
tricked, or cheated of my own, my velvet paw be- 
comes a clutch of steel ! I caress no longer ! I 
strike !” 

And she raised her hand, the fingers open like a 
claw, her figure poised like some gorgeous black and 
yellow striped, wild animal, ready to pounce upon its 
prey. 

Harry started back in horror, and then, his whole 
mad love rushing back upon him, he caught her 
hands in his and drew her toward him. 

“ Cynthia l” 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 17 

Then the whole attitude of the woman who was 
known by the sobriquet of the Panther changed. Her 
face softened wonderfully, and her great dark eyes 
rested with infinite yearning, infinite tenderness upon 
the face of the young man which was so close to hers. 
Her graceful body swayed toward him as if longing 
for his embrace. 

But, just at that moment, a step sounded on the 
stairs leading to the roof. 

Cynthia’s quick ear caught it, and she wrenched 
herself free from her lover, becoming instantly once 
again the cool, self-possessed woman of the world. 

With a suppressed exclamation, which, if it had 
been uttered aloud, we fear would scarcely have 
passed muster in good society, young Chichester 
turned toward the stairs, and saw, emerging from the 
opening below, his brother Tom. 

With the exception of a certain vague family re- 
semblance, the two brothers were very unlike in ap- 
pearance, as they were equally unlike in training and 
character. 

Tom Chichester was a singularly striking-looking 
man, not handsome in the strict sense of the word, 
but possessed of a refined and intellectual appearance 
above the average, tall and well made, the mouth and 
eyes denoting tremendous pride and power of will, 
this in itself forming the greatest contrast to his 
brother. Curious eyes were his, dark -brown in color, 


18 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


eyes wliicli could flame with anger or soften suddenly 
when their owner was affected by some tender emotion. 

They were very hard now, however, as they gazed 
upon the occupants of the roof. 

And yet it was with no lack of outward courtesy, 
that Tom Chichester now came forward, and ad- 
dressed the beautiful woman who was nonchalantly 
fanning herself with the bunch of ostrich plumes she 
wore attached to her girdle by a slender gold chain. 

“Our waltz, Mrs. Dell, I think. And as for you, 
my boy,” turning to Harry, and speaking in an in- 
tentionally light and careless tone, “the girls down 
stairs are going crazy. Broken vows for waltzes and 
unfulfilled mazurkas all over the shop. So off you 
go, and do your duty, like a soldier and a man — a 
dancing man. ” 

“Thank you,” returned Harry, sullenly, “but I’m 
sitting out this dance.” 

“But, my dear boy, you are the host. You must 
not neglect your guests. ’ ’ 

“I prefer staying here!” was the rather petulant 
answer. 

Harry Chichester was fond of his brother, and ad- 
mired him immensely, but he did not like anything 
that savored of dictation, especially upon an occasion 
like this. 

Tom was perfectly aware that he would prefer 
Staying there, but at the same time he did not pro- 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


19 


pose to let him. But he gave no sign of this deter- 
mination as he answered, with a careless glance at 
Mrs. Dell, who was regarding the two with a half- 
amused, half-provoked smile : 

“Of course you do. So should I.” 

At this Cynthia stopped the slow movement of her 
fan, and remarked, with lazy sarcasm : 

“Thank you.” 

The Panther, with her remarkable keenness of per- 
ception, was quite, aware, and had been for some 
time, that her young lover’s brother was no friend of 
hers, and she felt now a vague foreboding not un- 
mixed with apprehension, that a struggle was im- 
pending between her and Tom Chichester. 

“Don’t mention it,” replied Tom, quietly. Then, 
turning to his brother, . he said, smiling, and with 
nothing of dictation in his manner: “Honestly, old 
chap, you must go, and be a martyr. Besides, you 
like it — we all like it. Putting an arm about a pretty 
woman’s waist is one of the most delightful sensations 
in the world, unless — unless she has a pin in her 
sash.” He laughed at the idea, a laugh which was 
not echoed, however, by either Harry or Mrs. Dell. 
Then, he added, seriously: “And, moreover, Aileen 
told me to find you. You promised to take her in to 
supper, you know. ’ ’ 

An angry look swept across Cynthia’s face, only 
immediately to vanish. Aileen again ! 


20 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


Harry looked hesitatingly from one to the other, 
and then said, helplessly : 

“Well, I suppose there’s nothing else to be done.” 

“That’s right ! Do your duty!” declared Tom, 
cheerily and approvingly; and then he turned away 
and walked slowly over to the edge of the roof. 

As soon as his back was toward them, his brother 
turned like a flash to Mrs. Dell. 

“I shall see you home, of course?” he murmured, 
beseechingly. 

“Not to-night,” returned Cynthia, coldly. 

She was annoyed at him for obeying so promptly 
hi^brother’s behest, and jealous into the bargain. 

“Cynthia!” 

“Be careful!” warned Mrs. Dell, in a low voice, 
glancing toward Tom. “Go and do your duty, Mr. 
Harry. But/’ and there was a certain icy menace in 
her tone, “remember, you take me into supper, not 
Aileen.” 

Now Harry knew that it had been arranged that he 
should escort his cousin, and for a moment he hesi- 
tated. 

“I insist!” added Cynthia, firmly, but in the same 
suppressed voice. 

At once all Harry’s hesitancy vanished. 

He caught her hand and pressed it fervently to his 
lips. 

“As you will ! Only love me ! Only love me !” 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


21 


Cynthia made no reply, but the look she bent upon 
him spoke more than words could have done, and, 
with a lightened heart, Harry hurried away to do his 
duty. 

After he had gone, Mrs. Dell glanced toward the 
motionless figure that stood at the edge of the parapet 
with its back toward her. 

Her lips closed tightly and her eyes contracted 
until the lids nearly came together, giving a peculiar 
snake-like appearance to her face. How she hated 
that man ! She knew he was her enemy and would 
defeat her plans if he could. Then too, how much did 
he know? Well, if the preliminary struggle had to 
take place, as was inevitable, it might as well take 
place now. The suspense should end at once. 

With an effort, she forced herself to regain her 
normal composure. 

“Mr. Chichester!” she called, sweetly. 

Tom turned at once and came toward her. 

“I really beg your pardon,” he said, politely, if a 
little coldly. “Shall we go to the dancing-room?” 
and he offered his arm. 

“No, thank you,” replied Cynthia, quite as cour- 
teously. “I prefer to talk.” 

So did Tom. That was exactly what he wanted. 
But he scarcely understood why it was her wish. He 
raised his eyes to her face, and a look flashed between 
the two, very much such a look as would pass be- 


22 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


tween two duelists just before the swords were 
crossed. 

It was only for an instant, and before Tom really 
realized the significance of the glance, Mrs. bell’s 
whole manner had changed. 

As has been intimated before, she was a superb 
actress, and she had decided at once the part she 
would play, at least in the beginning of the impend- 
ing encounter. 

1 1 Mr. Chichester, why do you dislike me so much ?” 
she asked, with a suddenness which was absolutely 
startling. 

For an instant Tom was completely taken aback. 

“I — really ” he stammered. “You are mis- 

taken.” 

“No, I am not,” replied Cynthia, with the utmost 
decision, and yet cleverly allowing a soupcon of re- 
gret to creep into her tone. “But,” with a sigh, “as 
you will not be candid with me, I will with you. You 
dislike me because you are afraid of me.” 

Blunt as the words were, and in a certain sense 
true, as Tom well knew, there was nothing aggres- 
sive in either the tone or the manner of the woman 
who spoke them. On the contrary, her whole atti- 
tude was one of sorrow and appeal. 

She moved closer to him, her gold-colored robes 
gleaming under the black shower of her laces. Her 
scarlet, pomegranate-like lips, the rich flush on her 


A DANGEltOUS BEAUTY. 


23 


cheeks, and the lustre of her great dusky eyes, all 
made a perfect picture of its kind, and Tom could not 
but acknowledge its beauty, even while it left him 
cold and unmoved. 

“I’m afraid of no one,” he answered, very politely, 
but with equal frigidity. 

“Not for yourself, perhaps,” assented Cynthia. 
“But,” after a very short pause, “you are afraid of 
me for your brother’s sake.” 

At this exceedingly plain speaking, Tom’s surprise 
increased. It was not what he had expected from her. 

“For Harry’s sake!” he murmured. 

“Yes, the pride of the house, the hope of the Chi- 
cliesters. He is so fascinating, so good, so inno- 
cent.” 

These last words were spoken with a vailed sar- 
casm, which, however, was thoroughly apparent to 
Tom. He was glad now that she had spoken so 
plainly in regard to Harry. It gave him exactly the 
opening he wanted. He had been aware for some time 
of his brother’s infatuation for the beautiful Panther, 
and he had determined to break off the connection. 
He believed now that he held at last the means to 
compel Mrs. Dell to yield to his wishes. 

“Mrs. Dell,” he said, seriously, “I quite under- 
stand the drift of your words.” 

“Really,” with an enigmatical smile. 

She was fanning herself languidly, and with appar- 


24 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


ent unconcern, but nevertheless she was watching 
Tom narrowly out of the corner of her eye. 

“My brother has been what is termed a little wild. 
But, considering his youth, and our sudden accession 
to fortune, is that to be wondered at? Now, we are 
celebrating to-night Harry’s birthday and start in 
life. A start,” speaking very firmly, “a start, Mrs. 
Dell, I am determined shall be a fair one, and not 
ruined or disgraced by a mistake.” 

Cynthia’s hand tightened a little upon the handle 
of her fan, but she answered, coldly : 

“I fail to understand your meaning, Mr. Chi- 
chester. ’ ’ 

“A remark you made just now explains it exactly. 
I am afraid of you for my brother’s sake.” 

“Sir!” 

“One moment !” interrupted Tom, decidedly, but 
still courteously. “Harry is young, high-spirited, 
and, I regret to say, easily led. And he has fallen 
under the influence of a beautiful woman. ’ ’ 

Cynthia smiled. 

“Indeed!” 

“That influence is likely to prove dangerous to 
him.” 

Their eyes met, and for an instant they looked in- 
tently at one another, each trying to read the other’s 
thoughts. Then Cynthia asked, smiling again ; 
“Does he love this beautiful woman?” 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


25 


“I am afraid so,” replied Tom, with a sigh. 

There was silence for a moment, and then Cynthia 
said, speaking very slowly : 

“And suppose the beautiful woman returns his 
love?” 

Tom had not the slightest faith that such was the 
case, but in this he did her wrong. Still he answered, 
diplomatically : 

“Then the danger is a double one.” 

He came closer to her, and there was now a note 
of pleading in his voice. 

“I am sure you understand me. Harry is desper- 
ately in love with you. Do you know what this 
means?” 

“Happiness, I hope, to one of us,” returned 
Cynthia, evasively. “ Perhaps to both. ’ 

“No! Happiness to neither!” exclaimed Tom, 
realizing that the struggle between them was to be 
even harder than he had thought, but determined to 
fight it out to the bitter end. “With Harry it is an 
infatuation that cannot last. With you it is a passion 
that will pass as quickly as others have done, and die 
as soon !” 

Cynthia grew suddenly pale, for she had no need 
of rouge on her rich skin, and the blood was apt to 
come and go, as varied emotions swept over her. At 
the insinuation in Tom’s words, all her affected lan- 


26 A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 

guor vanished, and her eyes flashed fire, as she turned 

savagely upon him : 

“You dare!” she hissed, between her clinched 
teeth. 

“Anything to save my brother,” replied Tom, 
calmly and incisively. “And in his interests, I must 
ask you not to see him again after to-night. ’ ’ 

The Panther’s temper was roused, and in her anger 
she tore the feathers recklessly from her fan. She 
was not accustomed to be dictated to. 

“Stop! stop!” she cried, warningly. 

But Tom had gone too far to retreat now, even if 
he had had any desire to do so. 

“If you promise me this,” he said, “yes, I will 
stop. If not, I must continue. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Cynthia, a pre- 
monition of approaching evil thrilling her for an in- 
stant, but, almost immediately, she threw back her 
haughty head, and continued, defiantly: “Why 
should I? No! I’ll not promise!” 

“I am sorry,” returned Tom, simply, “for I 
wished to spare you. ’ ’ 

For all response, Cynthia turned her back upon 
him with a disdainful shrug. 

But Tom advanced a step or two and spoke over 
her shoulder, in the same quiet, but resolute tone he 
had used since the beginning of the interview. 

“Some months ago, you first met my brother, and 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 27 

little by little your influence over him has grown and 
strengthened. But, unfortunately for you, a reputa- 
tion such as yours cannot be hidden, even under the 
cloak of respectability.” 

At this, as if moved by a steel spring, Cynthia 
turned and faced him. Her eyes were dilated with 
anger and a certain fear she could not shake off. 

“Take care!” she threatened, in a gasping tone. 

But Tom continued, apparently entirely unmoved : 

“Nor an assumed name. Kindly keep as quiet as 
you can,” as the Panther made a furious gesture. “I 
am sure you don’t want a scene. I repeat,” low, but 
very distinctly, “an assumed name, Mrs. Fretly 
Burnsides. ” 

Cynthia turned livid. She uttered a smothered cry 
of rage and despair, and for an instant Tom thought 
that she was about to spring upon him. Then she 
staggered back, almost falling. Tom sprang to her 
side, but recovering herself, she glared at him and 
waved him back. 

Then she sank limply down into a chair which 
chanced to be close at hand, her rich robes trailing 
about her. 

Tom could not but pity her, but there was too 
much at stake for him to yield to any such sentiment. 

After waiting a moment or two, he spoke again. 

“The fact that led to this discovery is, that among 
the many men introduced here by your friend, Cap- 


28 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


tain Gridston, there happened to be one or two gen- 
tlemen. This may have been accidental” (Tom could 
not refrain from this bit of sarcasm, for he thoroughly 
disliked and distrusted the man named Gridston) 
“but, nevertheless, it was so. And these gentlemen 
recognized you and warned me. In justice to you, 
I kept silence until inquiries had been made, and I 
received only to-night the confirmation of the worst I 
have been told.” 

The Panther raised her head. The blow had been 
a sudden one, but she was not a woman to succumb 
easily. The color was now stealing back into her 
cheeks, and in her eyes there was a dangerous 
glitter. 

“And what have you been told, Mr. Chichester?” 
she asked, with intense bitterness. 

“That your name is not Mrs. Dell, but Burnsides ; 
that you are not a widow, but the wife of a man who 
is suffering for a crime committed in order to feed 
your extravagances. ’ ’ 

Every word of this was true, and there was even 
more that might have been said. No one knew this 
better than the Panther herself. But, nevertheless, 
she started to her feet, exclaiming, boldly, and with 
well-assumed indignation : 

“Your charge is an infamous one!” 

“I regret that it is true,” said Tom, quietly. 

Cynthia gave him one swift look, and then laughed 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


29 


hoarsely, making no further effort to defend herself, 
or deny his charges. 

“Spare your pity!” she said, contemptuously. 
“Keep it for others who may need it! Ha! ha! ha! 
Mr. Chichester, really you amuse me. You are a 
modern curiosity, a man who loves his brother. ’ ’ 

“And respects his sister,” meaningly. 

Cynthia understood, and her rage increased. Then, 
suddenly, a thought came to her, and she threw back 
her head, laughing aloud, with sinister and savage 
laughter. 

She had a weapon with which to strike this man, 
who had dared to humiliate and threaten her, this 
man whom she hated, and strike she would, merci- 
lessly, full at his heart. 

“Your sister !” she cried. “Yes! And how about 
your cousin ? How about Miss Aileen Millar ? The 
girl who is dancing with your brother’s arm around 
her waist? The girl your father wishes to marry his 
favorite son, your dearly cherished brother? Has she 
no share in your anxiety to get rid of me?” 

“Be silent!” commanded Tom, drawing his breath 
hard. 

“I’ll not!” she retorted, defiantly, advancing to- 
ward him with that peculiarly sinuous motion, so 
suggestive of the animal whose name she bore. “I 
know your secret ! This girl that your father wishes 
your brother to make his wife— you love /” 


30 


A DANGEllOUS BEAUT ST. 


The blow struck home. Tom turned pale to the 
lips. 

“For Heaven’s sake!” he muttered, striving to re- 
cover himself. 

But the Panther paid no attention to his appeal. It 
was not in her nature to show mercy. 

“With all your heart and soul!” rang out the 
scoffing, victorious voice. “You love her! But there 
is a barrier between you — your brother ! I can clear 
that barrier away, and like a fool, you order me out 
of the house ! You speak of my passion dying quickly 
— your love has never existed! Madremia!” striking 
her hands passionately together. “If I were a man 
and coveted a woman’s heart, I’d have it. Yes, if a 
thousand brothers stood in the way!” 

She paused, and Tom, still pale, but controlling 
himself, said, hoarsely: 

“I require an answer. Will you go or will you 
compel me to expose you?” 

“Bah! Don’t be afraid!” replied Cynthia, calmly, 
but with concentrated venom. “I’ll not come here 
again ! Your — your sister shall be respected !” 

And laughing maliciously, she gathered up her 
gleaming draperies and swept toward the stairs which 
led below. 

Then suddenly her laughter ceased, and with a 
quick movement she turned again toward Tom, and 


A DANGEROUS BEAUTY. 


31 


flashed upon him a glance of mingled defiance and 
hatred. 

“But I warn you!” she exclaimed, in low, tense 
tones, the words cutting the air like so many stings of 
a whip-lash. “Be careful to keep silent about my 
past, for I have your honorable family here — here in 
the palm of my hand! And if you drive me too hard, 
I’ll not spare them!” 

As she spoke she emphasized her words by extend- 
ing one hand, opening it wide, and then shutting it 
viciously, as if crushing something in its grasp. 

“Yon must explain!” ejaculated Tom, astonished, 
and alarmed as well. 

The Panther flung up her head, her whole form 
quivering with rage and a wild longing for ven- 
geance. 

“I’ll not explain!” she retorted, fiercely. “Al- 
though it’s only my love for your brother that keeps 
me still. Rob me of that , and I am pitiless /” 


32 


LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 


CHAPTER II. 

LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

After Mrs. Dell had given vent to this impassioned 
tirade, Tom Chichester stood motionless for a mo- 
ment in bewilderment. He felt instinctively that 
there was something behind all this which he did not 
understand. Her words bore the impress of truth. 
She knew something, he felt assured, something 
which might bring sorrow to his family. 

But, before he could question her further, and sat- 
isfy himself whether her threat was baseless or not, 
there came the sound of voices and laughter upon the 
stair-way which led to the roof. 

In another moment there emerged from the en- 
trance a group of three — first Harry, then a very 
pretty girl, Gracie Chichester, and finally, a broad- 
shouldered, stalwart blonde young man, in immacu- 
late evening dress, with an enormous bunch of gar- 
denias in his button-hole. 

Mrs. Dell’s arm, which had been tragically ex- 
tended, dropped to her side, and she turned, with a 
forced smile, to greet the new-comers. 

Gracie came forward with an exclamation of “Oh! 


LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 33 

there you are!” then, as she saw the strained attitude 
of the two, she added: “Why, what’s the matter?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” answered Cynthia, quickly, 
the woman as usual being more swift to meet an em- 
barrassing position than the man. “Mr. Chichester,” 
turning to Tom, “will you be so good as to order my 
carriage?” 

But before Tom could make a movement, Harry 
hurried forward to Cynthia’s side. 

“Mrs. Dell,” he said, imploringly, “you promised 
me one more dance !” And then, as he saw how pale 
and trembling she was, he added, with tender anx- 
iety: “Why, are you ill?” 

Cynthia cast a swift glance at Tom Chichester, but 
there was no relenting upon his face, so she an- 
swered, slowly: 

“Yes, a sharp, terrible pain. I — I am going home. 
Will you,” to Harry, whose face betrayed the solici- 
tude he felt, “will you kindly see me to my car- 
riage?” 

Harry extended his arm, and she took it. 

“Thank you,” she said, with apparent effort, part 
assumed and part real. “Miss Grace, Mr. Chichester, 
good-night. Pray express my regrets to every 
one. ” 

And, with a smile which embraced all of the little 
company, she vanished with Harry to the rooms 
below. 


34 LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

Grade, with a look of trouble upon her pretty face 
came toward Tom and laid her hand upon his arm. 

“There’s something wrong, Tom, dear,” she said. 
“Tell me what. ” 

“It’s nothing, Gracie. At least — nothing you 
could understand. Where’s Aileen?” 

“In the supper-room.” 

“Yes, dear boy,” put in the blonde young man, 
who had watched the preceding scene, not under- 
standing in the least what it meant, but conscious 
that something was wrong, “she wants you to come 
and help her. There’s a heavy run on just now.” 

“I’ll go at once,” replied Tom. “But,” with an 
after-thought, “I say, both of you!” 

The others looked up at the seriousness of his tone. 

“Yes, dear?” queried Gracie. 

“Not a word about Mrs. Dell’s indisposition to my 
father. ” 

“Not a word!” answered the others, in a breath. 

“Thank you. ” 

Tom kissed his sister and went below. 

As he descended the stairs, his thoughts were not 
of the pleasantest. Mrs. Dell had said that she could 
ruin the Chichester family. What could she have 
meant? Surely, it could only have been an idle 
threat, and yet, for some reason or other, he could 
not explain to himself Tom was greatly disturbed at 
the thought of it. 


LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 35 

He wished, too, Harry had not seen he«r before she 
left. Would she tell him what had happened? Tom, 
on the whole, thought not. 

To-morrow, however, he would have a long talk 

fr 

with his brother. He must listen to reason. If he 
didn’t marry Aileen, it would break his father’s heart. 

At this thought, Tom paused in his descent of the 
stairs. 

How about his own heart? 

Every word that woman had spoken was true. He 
did love Aileen with all his being. It was a love that 
had begun in his boyhood and had grown, increasing 
in strength, until, now in his manhood, it was an 
integral part of himself. How had the woman discov- 
ered what he had striven so hard to keep a secret 
from every one save himself? 

That was a question he could not answer. 

But, one thing he was sure of, and that was this : 
Henceforth, his life would be passed in a torture 
chamber, but, thank Heaven ! he would be the only 
one to suffer ! 

With Tom’s departure, pretty little Gracie and 
her companion were left alone upon the roof. 

By the way, her companion deserves a more ex- 
tended introduction to the reader. 

Gillespie Fletcher — or Gillie Fletcher, as he was 
more generally and familiarly called — was a rising 
young barrister, not entirely dependent, fortunately 


36 LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES, 

for himself, at this period of his existence, upon his 
profession for a living. From his appearance, how- 
ever, no one would have taken him for a lawyer. He 

looked far more like a Guardsman. 

« 

He had known the Chichesters for many years, long 
before they had come into their fortune. His father’s 
estate adjoined the old farm in Yorkshire. 

Gillie was slow of speech and a little awkward in 
movement, but any one who, for these reasons, 
should set him down for a fool, would be very likely, 
sooner or later, to find himself most woefully mis- 
taken. 

It may as well be stated here that this blonde young 
limb of the law was head over heels in love with the 
pretty daughter of the house of Chichester. 

He was always upon the point of telling her of his 
love, but somehow he never quite reached there, or, 
at all events, failed in getting a satisfactory answer. 

Perhaps this was due to the fact that Gracie Chi- 
chester was just a little bit of a flirt, and was not quite 
ready to relinquish her freedom. She did not wish to 
lose the devotion of her admirer — far from it — but 
still there was time enough in which to bind herself. 

“Tom doesn’t seem quite himself to-night,” ob- 
served Gillie, after Chichester had left them. 

He spoke with a peculiar drawl, which was par- 
tially affected, partially natural. 

“No, Tom hasn’t been himself for some time,” re- 


LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 37 

plied Gracie, who had seated herself upon the par- 
apet, making a charming picture in her ball-dress of 
pale-blue, as the love-lorn young barrister only too 
well appreciated. 

“I’ve noticed it. It’s a great pity.” 

“Yes. Dear, darling old fellow!” 

Gillie’s face hushed. 

“Am I?” he exclaimed, in delight. 

Gracie gave him one look, which hurled him down 
to earth again. 

“I meant Tom,” she explained, dryly. 

“Oh ! I thought — I mean — I wish ’’stammered 

poor crest-fallen Gillie. “I hoped — that is to say — 
hem!” with a most lame and impotent conclusion. 

Gracie laughed mischievously. 

“I think I know what’s wrong with the dear, dar- 
ling fellow, ” said Fletcher, with a certain sarcastic 
emphasis, which, under the circumstances, was quite 
excusable. 

“Do you?” said Gracie, interested. “Tell me. 
Perhaps I may be able to cure it. ’ ’ 

“I think not,” returned Gillie, doggedly. He pre- 
ferred to talk about himself, not about some other 
fellow. “But,” with a softening of his voice and an 
appealing glance, “you might be good enough to — to 
cure another dear, darling fellow. ’ ’ 

Gracie made a moue. 


38 LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

What chances he was always giving her to torment 
him ! 

“I don’t know another,” she answered, looking up 
at him in the most innocent manner in the world. 
14 Where is he?” 

Gillie struck an attitude which he thought most 
effective, but which filled his companion with amuse- 
ment, an amusement she made no effort to conceal. 

“Straight in front of you,” he declared. “I’m the 
fellow, and I want to be cured. ’ ’ 

“Why!” cried Gracie, stifling her laughter and 
forcing herself to seem surprised. “What’s the mat- 
ter with you?” 

Gillie sighed, and then said, as sentimentally as he 
knew how, for, except so far as Gracie was con- 
cerned, he was really the most matter-of-fact young 
fellow in the world : 

“Well, you see, I’ve an attack of the same com- 
plaint as ‘dear Tom.’ ” 

“Poor fellow!” with dancing eyes, but in a tone 
of the utmost commiseration. 

“Yes, we’re poor fellow-sufferers! I ” 

But Gracie, growing suddenly alarmed at what he 
might say next, thought it best to change the sub- 
ject. 

“Don’t you think this roof garden a capital idea 
of papa’s?” she interrupted. 

Gillie made a grimace of disgusted disappointment, 


LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 39 

but he had learned too much from past experience to 
dare to make any complaint. 

“Oh, yes, tip-top,” he mumbled; “so cozy — so 
nice — and — and quiet — I — I ” 

And there he stopped, feeling as confused as an 
actor who has forgotten his lines. 

It was really ridiculous, if it had not been pitiful 
at the same time, to see the great, strong, strapping 
fellow reduced almost to a state of imbecility by the 
mischievousness of such a slip of a girl. 

Gracie^saw it all, and was thoroughly enjoying her 
power, as a woman always does, when she knows she 
is quite safe to indulge in any freak she pleases. 

( ‘ Papa arranged it through a suggestion of your 
American friend, Mr. Sheridan.” 

Fletcher looked at her blankly. He was thinking 
only of her, and had forgotten entirely the subject of 
the conversation. 

“What?” 

“Why, how stupid you are!” exclaimed Gracie. 
“The roof garden, of course.” 

“Oh, ah, yes, certainly. Good old Sheridan, bless 
him!” 

With which rather inconsequent remark he seated 
himself upon the parapet, a little closer to his fair 
companion, perhaps, than he ought to have done. 

“Mr. Fletcher!” cried Gracie, reprovingly, moving 
away a little. 


40 LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 

But Gillie chose to misunderstand her. 

Edging his way until he was quite as near to her 
as before, he said, emphatically : 

“I mean it! Why shouldn’t he be blessed for help- 
ing a poor sufferer to be a bit nearer heaven, eh?” 

His gaze was so full of meaning that Gracie could 
not help blushing. 

“Oh, Mr. Fletcher!” she murmured, casting down 
her eyes. 

“Oh, Miss Gracie!” he retorted, taking her hand, 
which she made only a feeble effort to draw away. 

Perhaps the whole affair would have been settled 
then and there, had it not been for the most inoppor- 
tune entrance of a footman, who suddenly emerged 
from the staircase, bearing a tray of ices. 

“What do you want?” demanded Gillie, impa- 
tiently, as Gracie hastily drew away her hand and re- 
treated to the farther end of the parapet. 

“Didn’t you ring, sir?” 

“No!” with explosive force. 

“Beg your pardon, sir,” faltered the discomfited 
footman, retreating to one of the little pagodas which 
had been erected upon the roof. 

Fletcher cast after him a look of wrath, and then 
returned to Grade’s side. 

That astute young woman was. quite aware of his 
annoyance, but for her part she did not care in the 
least for the interruption She knew her own power, 


LOYE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 41 

and was confident she could bring her big blonde 
lover to the point any moment that she wished. 

“ Isn’t this a lovely view, Mr. Fletcher?” she asked, 
demurely, waving her hand toward the really exqui- 
site panorama outspread before them. 

But Gillie was too disgruntled to reply with any- 
thing but a perfunctory nod. 

“I shouldn’t like to tumble down there, would 
you?” asked Grade, with a glance from her blue 
eyes, which immediately put his bad humor to flight. 

“I don’t.know. I — I’ve fallen deeper than that.” 

He meant in love, and Grade knew it. But, al- 
though she smiled and blushed a little, she pretended 
not to understand. 

“Deeper than that!” she echoed, in a tone of sur- 
prise. “I wonder you were not smashed to pieces!” 

“It does make me feel a bit chippy,” he answered, 
slangily, but quite truthfully. 

Grade looked up at him archly. 

“Wasn’t it a terrible shock when — when you 
landed?” 

“I haven’t got there yet.” 

“Are you looking forward to it?” 

“Well, it’s — it’s bound to come, ’ ’ asseverated Gillie, 
with a confidence he was far from feeling. “You 
can’t keep falling forever, you know.” 

“Won’t it be a relief when it’s all over!” ex- 
claimed Gracie, sympathetically, and as she felt a lit- 


42 LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES, 

tie too encouragingly as well, for, as she spoke, she 
made a surreptitious sign to the footman who was 
standing in the door-way of the pagoda. 

Gillie gave a start, and, looking at her smiling 
face, determined to accept the challenge as he under- 
stood it, and take the plunge at once. 

“It all depends on how I land,” he exclaimed, 
eagerly, his honest face flushing with hope. “Now, 
if there was some one — some one I could depend 
upon,” — the way he spoke these words left no room 
for doubt as to who the some one was he had in his 
mind — “some one, you know, there to catch me.” 

“Catch you!” repeated Gracie, as, overcome with 
his emotion, he faltered and stopped. 

“Yes,” went on Gillie, excitedly, “some one who 
would hold out her arms, so that I could fall into 
them, some one who would exclaim, as she caught 
me to her heart ” 

“Champagne, sir!” suggested a voice at his elbow. 

It was the footman, obeying, as he supposed, his 
young mistress’ order. 

Gillie turned with a start, and his face grew black 
— that is, figuratively speaking, for his coloring was 
too light ever to take on a really dusky shade. 

“The devil!” he ejaculated, angrily. 

“Oh!” cried Gracie, rising in pretended dismay. 

And then she hurried away toward the staircase, 
stifling her laughter, and yet feeling a little — just a 


LOVE MAKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 43 

little pity — for the poor fellow who was thus sud- 
denly tumbled down from heaven to earth, and all 
through her own love of mischief. 

As for Gillie, he gave one furious glance at the 
officious footman, and then, with a vehement utter- 
ance, more forcible than polite, he hurried away after 
his elusive sweetheart. 


44 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


CHAPTER III. 

CROSS PURPOSES. 

“I will have an explanation! And at once!” 

The words were uttered in a very angry and ex- 
cited voice, and the speaker, Harry Chichester, was 
flushed and his hands were clinched tightly together 
in a not too successful attempt at self-control. 

The two brothers were alone together in the li- 
brary, where the younger had insisted upon the other 
following him, about half an hour after Mrs. Dell’s 
departure. 

Tom saw his brother was in no condition to listen 
to reason then, and he endeavored to put off the ex- 
planation until Harry should have become cooler. 

“Not to-night, my boy,” he said, gently. “To- 
morrow, by all means. ’ ’ 

“To-morrow!” echoed the angry young man, con- 
temptuously. “No, now! You have insulted a lady 
I — I respect, and I’ll know the reason why.” 

“You are excited, Harry,” replied Tom, his quiet 
voice and calm demeanor in strong contrast to his 
brother’s agitation. “I have not insulted this lady. I 
only told her the truth. ” 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


45 


“About what?” 

Tom advanced to Harry’s side and laid his hand 
kindly, even affectionately, upon his shoulder. 

“You shall know everything in the morning, old 
chap. ’ ’ 

But Harry was in no humor for delay. He roughly 
shook off his brother’s touch. 

“No, I’ll hear it at once,” he insisted, irritably. 
“I’m sick and tired of being treated like a child, of 
having you always at my elbow to look after me and 
preach what’s right and wrong. Because you are my 
elder brother, you think you have the privilege to 
interfere with me; but to-night you’ve exceeded what 
I’ll endure. Mrs. Dell says you’ve forbidden her the 
house. Well,” with a sudden access of fury, “well, 
I’ll leave it, too! I’d rather break stones than submit 
to your insults any longer. ’ ’ 

Tom’s good humor for one instant deserted him, 
and he said, sternly : 

“Breakstones! Do any useful work! But don’t 
break your father’s heart!” 

Harry scowled, and his lips became set. Like many 
weak people, he had in him a very strong vein of ob- 
stinacy, which he was pleased to consider as firmness. 

As Tom looked at him, however, it came over him 
with a wave of tenderness that this was his brother, 
his brother to whom he had always been devotedly 
attached. At this thought, his face softened marvel- 


46 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


ously, and when lie spoke again, it was in the kind- 
est, most pleading of tones. 

“Come, come, open your eyes, lad, and see how 
foolishly you have been behaving. We all make mis- 
takes at times, but the sooner the mistakes are buried 
the better. Think, too, how bright your future can 
be if you’ll only grasp it ! And — and, ” with a scarcely 
perceptible catch in his voice, “there is a girl who 
will some day be your wife, a girl that any man 
would give his soul to win. ’ ’ 

Harry made a movement of impatience. 

“There again !” he ejaculated, feverishly. “Why 
should my future be cut and dried for me in this 
way? Aileen doesn’t care for me, nor I for her!” 

This declaration, or rather the latter part of it, sent 
a pang through Tom’s breast, and a most unselfish 
one at that. But, at the same time, it thoroughly 
aroused his indignation. 

“You speak like this because you are infatuated 
with Mrs. Dell!” he exclaimed, quickly and hotly. 
“Don’t interrupt me!” as Hany started to, speak. 
“You have driven me to a corner, and I’ll tell you 
now what I know. Harry ! This woman you think 
you love is not worthy to touch your sister’s hand.” 

Harry’s face grew scarlet with anger. 

“By Heaven!” he exclaimed, furiously. 

“She is unworthy to look your cousin Aileen in 
the face!” proceeded Tom, his voice cutting across 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


47 


the other. “Her presence in this house is a dishonor 
to our mother’s memory, and if she had not robbed 
you of every sense and driven you mad, you would 
have discovered, as I have, that she is Captain Grid- 
ston’s mistress!” 

At this bold statement, Harry, mad with rage, lost 
all control of himself. 

He rushed upon his brother, with hand uplifted to 
strike. 

“You coward!” he screamed. 

Quick as lightning, Tom caught his arm before it 
could descend. 

“For God’s sake, man!” 

But before he could continue, a white figure, the 
figure of a young girl, who had entered unperceived 
by either, sprang forward. 

“What are you doing?” she cried, in terror. 

Tom released his grasp, and the two brothers fell 
apart, Aileen, for the girl was their cousin, at once 
stepping between them. 

From her appearance, Tom Chichester had not 
been far wrong, when he declared that a man would 
give his soul to win such a woman. 

Aileen Millar was a little above the medium 
height, with a figure slight, but of exquisite propor- 
tions. Her profile, with the sensitive nostrils, rather 
full lips, and firmly moulded chin was as clear-cut as 
that of a cameo. Her heavy hair, bronze-colored with 


48 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


gold lights in it here and there, was coiled simply at 
the back of her shapely head, while her beautiful 
eyes of the color of English violets looked out from 
beneath long, dark lashes. 

It was inconceivable that Harry had not fallen in 
love with this well-nigh perfect specimen of girlhood, 
but probably the true solution lay in the fact that he 
was too young himself to appreciate youth. 

“I’m sorry you boys have been quarreling,” pro- 
ceeded Aileen, in that peculiarly sweet voice of hers, 
that always reminded Tom of the chiming of silver 
bells. “Oh! it is a pity! And to-day, too, above all 
days. I am very sorry. It pains me more than I can 
tell.” 

Even Harry was a little touched by the reproachful 
sorrow in her tone, while Tom exclaimed, impul- 
sively : 

“Forgive me, Aileen, but ” 

And then he. stopped short in embarrassment, feel- 
ing the impossibility of proceeding further without 
saying what must not be said in her pure presence. 

“Now, whose fault was it ?” persisted the young 
girl. 

But both stood with downcast eyes, and neither 
made reply. 

“Both obstinate?” And then she turned implor- 
ingly to the elder man. “Tom, this isn’t like you. 
Well, who is going to speak?” 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


49 


Still there was no reply. 

“Come, now, it’s no use. You know I’ve always 
been the peacemaker between you hot-headed, excit- 
able young men,” with a pretty assumption of vastly 
superior age and wisdom, “and I’m not going to be 
dethroned because one is now of age, and the other — 
well, old enough to know better. Tell me all about 
it, and at once! And I’ll decide who is to hold out 
his hand first. ’ ’ 

At this, Harry turned toward her, his brow con- 
tracted in a heavy frown. 

“I’ll never take his hand again!” he declared, 
sullenly. 

“Oh, Harry!” cried Aileen, in a shocked, dis- 
tressed tone. “Don’t, don’t speak like that! You for- 
get he is your brother!” 

“I wish I could!” was the bitter response. “I 
can’t believe the same blood is in us. I hate myself 
for belonging to the same race!” 

“Oh, hush! hush!” cried Aileen, with a shudder. 

“Harry !” broke simultaneously from Tom’s lips, 
in genuine horror. 

But the headstrong young man was not to be 
placated. He had worked himself up to a feeling that 
he had been outraged and insulted, and he was in no 
mood for reconciliation. 

“He has said to me to-night what I will never for- 
give, ’ ’ he exclaimed to Aileen, with a fury he made 


50 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


no effort to control. “Don’t ask me for an explana- 
tion ! Ask my elder brother ! Tet him tell you what 
he has done, if he dares!” with a sneer. “As for my- 
self, I shall never speak to him again!” 

And, without waiting for anything further, he 
wheeled about, flung open the door, and dashed out 
of the room. 

Aileen made a movement to follow him, and then 
she stopped suddenly, and, turning, looked at Tom, 
who was standing with bent head, his whole attitude 
one of extreme dejection. 

An expression of pity and perhaps also something 
of what the poet says is akin to that sentiment, flitted 
across her lovely face. 

She hesitated, and then, slowly crossing the room, 
touched him gently on the arm. 

“Tom!” 

Tom raised his head. 

“Yes, Aileen?” 

“You heard what Harry said?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you will explain.” 

“No, no,” he answered, with manifest effort, “I 
can’t do that! Harry was right — I dare not.” 

“Dare not!” repeated Aileen, thoroughly startled. 
“Then it was something serious?” 

“Yes, Aileen.” 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


51 


“Very serious, Tom?” fixing lier eyes with the 
greatest anxiety upon his face. 

“Very serious, indeed. ” And then, pulling him- 
self together, and striving to speak cheerfully, he 
added: “But it’s all over now. To-morrow Harry 
will be sorry for his angry words, and everything will 
be forgotten. At least, ’ ’ after a short pause, and with 
an involuntary sigh, “I hope so.” 

But Aileen caught the note of despondency, and 
was far from satisfied. In fact, she was more worried 
than ever. She was beginning to realize that this was 
no ordinary quarrel. 

“But you don’t think so, Tom?” she queried, 
striving to read his face. 

“Well,” faltered Tom, in embarrassment, “one 
can’t exactly ” 

“Then, why do you say so?” interrupted Aileen, 
with a reproach that cut to the heart poor Tom, lov- 
ing her as he did with the whole strength of his hon- 
est heart. “Why are you treating this serious matter 
as nothing? Is it — is it — because you wish to spare 
me pain?” 

“Ail-en!” 

The cry escaped from him before he could check 
it. She had guessed only too correctly. It was chiefly 
to spare her pain that he was silent, to save her the 
anguish of knowing another was preferred to her by 


52 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


a man to whom, as Tom believed, she had given her 
maiden heart. 

“You are too fond of doing that, Tom,” said the 
girl, slowly, looking him straight in the eyes. “Don’t 
deny it. I’ve found you out time after time. How 
often have you allowed Harry’s mistakes to rest upon 
your shoulders to — to spare me pain?” 

The color deepened in her cheeks, and there was 
something not far removed from anger in her voice. 

“And how often have I seen through it all?” she 
went on, more quickly. “And wondered why you 
did it? Oh, so many, many times! I’ve let you think 

I was deceived, because No! I won’t tell you! 

You — you don’t deserve it.” 

Tom, his heart beating quickly, came nearer to 
her, until, as he bent over her, he inhaled the fra- 
grance of her hair. 

“Then it must be something I should like to hear, ” 
he murmured, eagerly. 

A crimson flush suffused Aileen’s cheek and neck, 
and she drooped her head. When, in another moment 
she looked up, she was smiling through her blushes. 

“Well, then,” she said, “the reason I have shut 
my eyes to your most transparent fibs was because I 
have sometimes thought that to spare me pain was a 
pleasure to you, Tom.” 

The sweetness of her voice, the glance of her 
lovely eyes, the closeness of her beloved presence, 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


53 


all intoxicated Tom as with strong wine. For just an 
instant he lost his self-control and forgot everything 
save that they were alone together, and he loved her. 

“There is no service that would keep grief or sor- 
row from you that I would not do,” he murmured, 
his voice vibrating with passion, “no danger that I 
would not face to keep you safe ” 

In maidenly alarm at his vehemence, Aileen drew 
away from his side, a movement which Tom entirely 
misunderstood, and which, as if by magic, recalled 
him to himself. 

Believing that her heart was irrevocably given to 
another, he had registered a vow that she should 
never guess his secret, and yet he had nearly betrayed 
himself. 

“Very kind,” interrupted Aileen, nervously, “and 
good and brave. But it must stop, Tom. I’ll allow it 
no longer. It must stop at once. ” She paused a sec- 
ond, and then went on, in a firmer voice, reverting 
again to the subject first under discussion between 
them, and, regaining her self-possession, as she re- 
membered the importance of it: “This time I mean 
to know the truth of your dispute. Come, I’ll try to 
help you. Was it money? Is Harry in debt again ?” 

“I’d rather not tell,” replied Tom, once more out- 
wardly calm as usual. 

“But you must tell me,” persisted Aileen. “You 
know Harry is very dear to me. ’ ’ 


54 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


A pang shot through Tom’s breast. It was hard, 
bitterly hard, to hear this confession from her own 
lips. But still he managed to answer, bravely, if just 
a little bitterly : 

“Yes, I know that.” 

“And you, too, Tom, I — I — esteem you very much 
indeed.” 

“I hope so,” suppressing a sigh. 

“Then answer me. What was the cause of this 
trouble between you and Harry?” 

But Tom made no reply. Indeed, he felt more than 
ever that it was impossible for him to do so. 

Aileen was deeply wounded at his silence. 

“You won’t?” she exclaimed, with a touch of in- 
dignant pride which lent a lovely rose flush to her 
cheek. “Very well ! I know what to do, then. Oh ! 
Tom, I thought I could rely upon your word. Just 
now you said you would do anything to serve me, 
and the first favor I ask you refuse. You forget an 
acre of performance is worth the whole world of 
promise. Very well,” moving toward the door, “I’ll 
find Harry. ’ ’ 

Tom started. This would never do. If she ques- 
tioned Harry in his present temper, the consequences 
might be disastrous. 

“Aileen, one moment!” he exclaimed, quickly. 

The girl paused, and turned back. 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


55 


“This much I will tell you. Our dispute was not 
about money. ” 

“About what, then?” 

“I pray you not to press the question,” besought 
Tom, in deep distress. “For your own sake, for ” 

He stopped abruptly, seeing the mistake he had 
made in saying even that much, for the expression of 
Aileen’s face showed that her suspicions were aroused. 

“For my sake?” she repeated, in a startled way. 

Then she advanced a step or two, and looked at 
him keenly, her sweet face growing white and 
drawn. 

“I think I understand,” she said, at last. “You 
were quarreling about a lady ! Answer me ! Answer 
me ! Oh, if you have the slightest regard for me, an- 
swer me! Am I right?” 

“You are right,” assented Tom, sadly. 

“Mrs. Dell?” pressing her hand to her breast. 

“Yes.” 

Aileen uttered a low cry, and caught at a chair to 
support herself. 

Tom’s heart ached for her, and it must be con- 
fessed, a little for himself, too. How she loved Harry, 
he thought to himself, with an inward groan. He 
was too blinded to suspect for an instant the truth. 
And Aileen, on her part, had not the faintest sus- 
picion of what was passing in his mind. It was not 
strange, perhaps, that she should have mistaken the 


56 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


cause of the quarrel, and believed that both brothers 
were in love with the fascinating widow. 

Altogether, it was a wretched game of cross pur- 
poses. 

Tom crossed quickly over to her, and with a rever- 
ent gesture, touched her arm. 

“Aileen, now you know why I would not speak,’ ’ 
and to the girl’s distorted vision, this seemed a con- 
fession of shame. “This pang is a cruel one, but the 
infatuation will soon pass and the love for you must 
and will return. ’ ’ 

Aileen started violently, flung off his hand, and 
faced him with a passion that startled him. 

“How dare you?” she cried, in low, quivering 
tones. “Do you think? No, no!” 

“Aileen!” 

It was such a cry of pain that Aileen’s tender 
heart was touched. After all, what right had she to 
blame him? She had given her love unasked, and it 
was for her to bear the consequences of her folly. 

“I beg your pardon,” she said, with an entire 
change of manner. “I don’t mean to be unkind. I 
have no right to be so. It’s over, and I’ll return.” 
Her voice faltered, but she controlled herself and 
went on: “Harry’s health is to be proposed, you 
know, and I must be there. My absence would pain 
your father, and I owe everything in the world to his 
kindness, ’ ’ 


CROSS PURPOSES. 


57 


She paused, and Tom would have spoken, but she 
motioned him to be silent. 

Then she raised her beautiful, sad eyes to his face. 
There was new dignity in every line of her slender, 
girlish figure, but, when she spoke again, despair and 
dreary pain were in her tones. 

“I know your father’s wishes in regard to Harry 
and myself, and I shall not disobey them !” 

The words ended in a sob, and, fearing lest she 
should break down utterly, she turned precipitately 
and fled from the room. 

Tom looked after her with his whole soul in his 
eyes. 

“Oh, Harry! Harry!” he murmured, with a sud- 
den burst of passion, longing, and regret, “what 
would I not give to be loved as she loves you !” 


58 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A CRUSHING BLOW. 

Among Mr. Chichester’s guests that night was a 
certain Captain Gridston, whom we have already 
heard the elder son of the house mention in connec- 
tion with Mrs. Dell. 

How he obtained his title, or what his profession 
was, nobody seemed to know, but, as he was always 
well dressed, gentlemanly in his manners, and seemed 
to have plenty of money, he had been accepted more 
or less graciously in society, and had even managed 
to be elected a member of one of the fashionable 
clubs. 

There were several people, however, if they so de- 
sired, who could have told strange tales of the so- 
called captain, and one of these people was Cynthia 
Dell. 

There had been a time when she had felt a fleeting 
fancy for the good-looking adventurer, for Gridston 
was nothing more nor less than this, and the two had 
been confederates in more than one shady transaction, 
but, although they still remained intimates, the 
Panther had long ceased to care anything for him. 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


59 


This was far from being Jhe case, however, with 
Gridston. His passion for Cynthia had increased, if 
anything, and the evident favor she had shown of 
late to young Harry Chichester had driven him mad 
with rage and jealousy. 

He knew the Panther too well to venture beyond 
an occasional remonstrance, but he had determined 
that Harry, with whom he took care, however, to re- 
main on good terms, should be made to suffer. 

His plans had been well laid, and followed out 
with a Mephistophelean shrewdness, and now the 
night of Harry’s birthday, Gridston felt that the time 
had come to strike, and that his revenge was near at 
hand. 

To explain just how he hoped to bring about 
Plarry’s disgrace, it will be well for us to listen to a 
conversation which took place earlier in the evening 
in a retired nook of the conservatory between himself 
and another of the guests, one whom he had asked 
permission to bring with him. 

This latter was a man of about forty, with a very 
bald head, and straggling side-whiskers of a sandy 
hue, and shifty, pale-blue eyes. He was correctly 
enough garbed in evening dress, but there was an 
unmistakable air about him which betrayed that he 
was anything but a gentleman. 

“Have you brought the bills, Treacher?” asked 


60 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


Gridston, after satisfying hixnself that what was about 
to be said could not be overheard. 

“Yes,” replied the other, in a disagreeable, squeak- 
ing voice. “That is, the one due to-day ; the other 
can wait. ’ ’ 

“Let me look at it.” 

The attorney, for such Treacher was, produced a 
pocket-book, and, selecting a paper from its contents, 
handed it to Gridston. 

The latter examined the paper closely, and then 
gave it back. 

“That’s all right,” he said, with a satisfied smile. 
“Ah, when you put your father’s name on this, 
Harry, my friend, it was a bad night’s work for you !” 

‘ ‘ But a good one for us, ’ ’ suggested Treacher, with 
a chuckling grin. 

1 ‘ Silence ! ’ ’ commanded Gridston , sharply. ‘ ‘ By th e 
way, you would better find young Chichester, and 
give him the hint that you know all. Tell him the 
bill must be paid for, well paid for, you understand?” 

No one knew better than the captain that the 
young man did not have the wherewithal to meet the 
obligation, but he could not resist the temptation to 
torture him all he could. 

“Perfectly,” replied Treacher. “But I don’t know 
the young man. ’ ’ 

“You’ll find him easily enough.” 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


61 


The attorney hesitated. 

“I hardly like doing this,” he said, at last. “It’s 
scarcely professional.” 

Gridston turned and gave him one look, partly 
scornful, partly threatening. 

“Don’t question my orders,” he said, sternly, “but 
obey them implicitly. ’ ’ 

“Um! You’re a leetle autocratic, Captain Grid- 
ston,” replied the attorney, in a whining tone. 

“While I pay you, I’m the master,” returned 
Gridston, coldly. “While you receive the pay, you’re 
the servant.” 

“Perhaps you’re right. Only slave would be a bet- 
ter word. Yes, we’re both slaves.” 

“Both!” repeated Gridston, angrily. 

“Yes,- accomplices in guilt, my dear friend,” an- 
swered the attorney, with more courage than one 
would have given him credit for, “accomplices in 
guilt are always slaves to each other.” 

Gridston frowned darkly and bit his lips ; but just 
at this moment, others of the guests approached, and 
the conversation ended_ there. 

In spite of what Treacher had said, he had no in- 
tention of disobeying orders. Gridston paid him well 
for doing his dirty work, and gold was the one god 
of the attorney’s existence. 

He managed to have young Mr. Chichester pointed 


62 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


out to him by one of the servants, who, however, 
made the natural mistake of designating Tom. 

It was some time, however, before Treacher found 
an opportunity of speaking to the young man alone, 
but fortune favored him at last, and he found himself 
face to face with Tom, just as the latter was leaving 
the library after his interview with Aileen. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Mr. Chichester, 
Jr., I believe?” 

“Yes,” replied Tom, politely enough, looking at 
the man, who was an entire stranger to him. “I 
haven’t the pleasure ” 

“No,” interrupted Treacher, in his shrill voice, 
with a smile that was meant to be engaging, “that 
pleasure is to come. My name is Treacher, a friend 
of Captain Gridston. ” 

Now this was not" calculated to recommend him 
strongly in Tom’s eyes, but still the young man felt 
that he could not be rude to a guest in his father’s 
house, so he made some conventional reply. 

“Mr. Chichester,” said Treacher, in a confidential 
sort of way, “I would like to have a few words with 
you. ” 

Tom made an impatient movement. He was in no 
mood to talk to this person, who had made anything 
but a favorable impression upon him. But, before he 
could frame any excuse, Treacher continued, quicklv: 

“Of course, I am aware that business on such an 


A CRTmiZG BLOW. 


63 


occasion as this is scarcely professional, but the law 
■utst take its c h a nc es. Neither time nor place enters 
into the law's consideration. T ’ 

Tom looked the astonishment he felt at this to him 
incomprehensible speech. 

’"Now. Mr. Henry Chichester, 7 ’ proceeded 
Treacher. 

Tom started, and was about to correct the mistake 
bet Treacher intermp ted him. 

4 "Excuse me T the right of speech is with ns. I was 
about to remark that in addition to being upon 
friendly terms with Captain Gridston. I am also his 
legal adviser, and in that capacity' I was going to 
write yon to-morrow ; hut opportunity must be seized 
at any cost .' 7 

Tom realized that he was being mistaken for his 
brother, and. fearing instinctively that there might 
be something serious in the situation, determined to 
hear what this strangely acting man had to say. 

"If yon will come into the library, sir,” he said, 
shall be more private than we are here. ” 

Treacher, nothing loath, followed. 

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Tom 
said, quietly, although anything but cordially : 

Treacher, you have apparently something to 
communicate to me. I shall be obliged if yon will get 
it over as quickly as possible. ” 

Not in the least o trended outwardly by this curt 


64 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


speech, Treacher brought to view the bill he had al- 
ready shown to Gridston. He pushed it quickly in 
front of Tom, but without letting go of it. 

“Do you know this?” 

Tom bent forward and Scrutinized the bit of paper. 

“ Certainly, ” he said. “It’s a note of my brother’s. 
I put my name on it to assist him. ’ ’ 

Treacher grinned. This was what he considered a 
bit of bluff, and it certainly did not go down with 
him. 

“And the bill, like yourself, is just come of age,” 
he said, tittering at his own humor. “I mean, due 
to-morrow. ’ ’ 

Tom drew himself up haughtily. 

“It shall be paid to-morrow,” he said, coldly. 

“One moment,” squeaked Treacher, turning the 
bill over and displaying the back of it. “Do you 
recognize this?” 

Tom followed the direction of his finger, and saw 
indorsed upon the back of the note, the name of his 
father, Robert Chichester. 

He started back, chilled with a nameless fear. 

“Why, that is my father’s signature!” he ex- 
claimed. 

“Humph!” retorted Treacher. “Are you sure of 
that ? Took again. ’ ’ 

Tom did look again, and what he saw served but 
to increase his alarm tenfold. 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


65 


“Why — why,” he stammered, his face very pale, 

“why, no! It’s not his handwriting at all, but — but 
> ) 

Treacher looked at him with insolent innuendo. 

“Very well done, young man,” he sneered, in his 
high-pitched, rasping voice ; “very well done, but, 
as you say — ‘but’ ” 

Tom, still with that vague suspicion, which was 
rapidly crystallizing into a certainty, turned angrily 
upon him. 

“What do you dare insinuate?” he demanded. 
“Tell me at once. ” 

“It’s simple enough,” replied the attorney, return- 
ing the bill ostentatiously to his pocket. “Bill drawn 
by — hem ! — Harry, given by the same to Gridston, in 
payment of gambling debts. Can’t be converted into 
cash without another name. Bill returned by Grid- 
ston to Harry, and sent back by Harry with indorse- 
ment all complete. Trick discovered by Treacher, 
but discounted by him all the same. Due to-morrow. 
And there you are!” 

It was certainly a most lucid statement, and one of 
which Tom saw clearly all the ghastly possibilities. 

“It’s for five hundred pounds, isn’t it?” he asked, 
after a pause. “I ” 

“Beg pardon, was five hundred,” interrupted 
Treacher, with an exasperating and significant grin. 
“Is five thousand. Sudden rise in the market!” 


66 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


Tom, scarlet with anger, raised his clinched fist, 
and then, with a powerful effort, dropped it again to 
his side. 

“Why, you scoundrel,” he cried. “This is black- 
mail !” 

“Very likely,” returned Treacher, coolly. He felt 
confident that he held the trump card, and he was 
right, although he was mistaken in some of his prem- 
ises. “Scarcely professional term, perhaps, but ex- 
pressive. Good-by for the present, ’ ’ crossing toward 
the door. “Think it over. Chichester, Jr., unless I 
have five thousand in my hands to-morrow morning, 
I shall consult Chichester, Sr. Sorry for you, but 
this is a clear matter of forgery. You know what the 
consequences of that are. Good-evening!” 

And, congratulating himself that he had attained 
his object remarkably well, Treacher, with a bow full 
of ironical courtesy, left the room. 

Tom, who fully understood now the circumstances 
of the case, made no effort to prevent him. He was 
overwhelmed by the blow which had fallen so unex- 
pectedly and so crush ingly. 

Harry ! Harry, his brother, a forger ! And this was 
what that woman’s influence had driven him to ! The 
knowledge of it would kill his father. But, he must 
never know it. Five thousand pounds asked for hush- 
money. But that was impossible. What, what was to 
be done? 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


67 


As Tom stood there, utterly miserable and feeling 
how impotent he was to avert the disaster that seemed 
impending, there came to his ear the sound of voices 
from the dining-room, a little way down across the 
hall. 

They were singing the chorus usual on such festive 
occasions, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” 

What a wretched mockery it all seemed l 

“They are drinking his % health!” thought Tom. 
“I’d better join them, and speak to Harry after- 
ward.” 

He opened the door, and passed out into the hall. 

As he did so, he saw coming toward him the man 
with whom he had just been speaking, accompanied 
now by Captain Gridston. 

Tom paused, feeling that they were in search of 
him, which was indeed the case. 

“Mr. Chichester,” began Gridston, as they came 
close to him, “I want a word with you.” 

“Go on, sir, ” replied Tom, coldly, although his 
breast was filled with foreboding. 

“I find that my solicitor here has mistaken you for 
your brother, Harry. It is as well perhaps, however. 
At all events, you know of the forgery of your 
father’s name to that bill.” 

“Yes, I know. ” 

“Mr. Treacher offered on my behalf to restore the 
forgery for five thousand pounds.” 


68 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


“Yes.” 

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.” 

“What do you mean?” gasped Tom. 

“I mean that money can’t buy it.” 

“What!” 

“To-night you brutally insulted a lady who is a 
friend of mine,” said Gridston, speaking very slowly 
and distinctly. “The bill belongs to her, and she in- 
sists that it be met in another way.” 

Now, while this statement was not absolutely true, 
there was a considerable amount of truth in it. 

Gridston had seen the Panther’s early departure, 
and knew that something out of the common course 
had occurred. 

He had hurried after her to her house, which was 
only a short distance away, and there heard the story 
from her lips, as she paced like an enraged tigress up 
and down the floor. 

“Do you want revenge?” he had asked. 

“Yes, yes!” 

“Shall I bring this man to your feet?” 

“Yes, yes!” 

“No matter whom it involves?” 

“No matter whom it involves!” she had answered, 
furious with the indignity which had been put upon 
her. “Only punish him! I care for nothing else!” 

“I shall hold you to that!” 

“You may!” 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


69 


And with this promise, Gridston had hurried ex- 
ultantly back to the Chichester mansion. Cynthia 
would have no right now to blame him for any steps 
he might see fit to take. 

The statement he made to Tom caused the latter 
increased uneasiness. 

“What other way?” he asked. 

“The discovery of Harry’s guilt will most likely 
kill your father,” was the cold-blooded response. “It 
will certainly break the heart of the girl who loves 
him. Well, it’s a heart for a heart, with the lady 
who owns this document, and she demands her 
debt. ’ ’ 

“You’ll tell my father?” 

“Everything!” 

And then Tom, at the thought of the terrible grief 
to be brought upon his father and Aileen, did what 
he would never have done for himself. He began to 
plead for mercy. 

But before he had finished, and while Gridston was 
listening to him with a hard, sarcastic smile, the door 
of the dining-room close at hand opened, and Mr. 
Chichester himself appeared. 

“Oh, there you are! you truant!” ciied the old 
gentleman, cheerily. “I thought I heard your voice. 
Where have you been, Tom ? We’ve been toasting 
our brave boy here. Never mind, you’re a splendid 
excuse for another. Come in ! Come in, all of you ! 


70 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


Ah, captain, I thought you’d gone. Sorry to hear 
Mrs. Dell is indisposed. Come in! Come in!” 

And Mr. Chichester, in the exuberance of his 
spirits, absolutely forced them into the dining-room, 
where, in the blaze of countless lights, the entire 
company was assembled about the tables, groaning 
with eatables and drinkables of every description. 

“Prescott,” said Mr. Chichester, addressing one of 
the servants, “some champagne for these gentlemen. 
We’ll have another toast.” 

“One moment, Mr. Chichester,” said Gridston, in 
a voice intentionally loud enough to attract the atten- 
tion of the major part of the company, “I have some- 
thing very particular to say to you first, that is, if 
you will grant me your permission.” 

Mr. Chichester looked astonished, but he could 
only answer : 

‘ ‘ Certainly — as you wish. ’ ’ 

“But, surely, father,” began Tom, seeking for 
some excuse to prevent the threatened revelation, 
“you ” 

“Silence, Tom,” interrupted his father, not exactly 
understanding, but not a little curious. “Captain 
Gridston has something particular to say, and, as he 
desires to say it at once, let him do so. ’ ’ 

If Mr. Chichester had any idea at all of what Grid- 
ston’s intention was, he probably thought it was some 
little surprise in honor of his son Harry. 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


71 


u Now, sir, I am at your service,” he concluded, 
turning smilingly to the captain. 

There was almost silence now in the room, as it 
had stolen over the company that something unusual 
was about to happen. 

Tom stood with folded arms and compressed* lips, 
feeling like a man on whom sentence has just been 
passed, and who knows there is no chance of a re- 
prieve. 

“Give me the bill, ” whispered Gridston, turning 
to Treacher. 

The attorney obeyed, and, with the paper clutched 
in his hand, the captain once more faced his host. 

“Mr. Chichester,” he said, in a voice distinctly 
audible throughout the room, “I am sorry to com- 
municate this intelligence to yon at such a time, but 
I have no alternative. Will you kindly look at this 
bill?” 

Harry, who had come forward, and was standing 
close to Tom, turned pale as death as'he heard these 
words, and he clutched his brother’s arm with a 
smothered groan. 

“Hush! Silence!” whispered Tom, warningly. 

Mr. Chichester, meanwhile, greatly astonished and 
intensely annoyed at what he considered a shocking 
exhibition of bad taste on the part of Gridston, had 
merely glanced at the face of the bill. 

“Captain Gridston,” he said, frigidly, “after all, 


72 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


this is only a business matter, and I am surprised that 
you should speak of it at such a time. It shall be 
met, of course. I fear I have kept my boys too short, 
especially Harry. It shall be different in the future. 
Before you leave, sir,” with a stiff bow, “you shall 
have my check. — Now for our toast!” 

“Stop!” interposed Gridston, quietly but firmly. 
“I haven’t done yet.” 

“I’m ruined !” muttered Harry, shaking like an 
aspen leaf. 

Tom seized him and drew him away a little, to 
where they were comparatively isolated. 

“Harry,” he said, in a quick, excited undertone, 
“if I save you, will you swear to give up this woman 
and make Aileen happy? Your answer, at once.” 

“Yes, I will,” returned Harry, ready to snatch at 
■a ny straw, to promise anything if only this exposure 
could be averted. 

Tom scarcely knew just what he was going to do, 
but, for the moment, Harry’s promise satisfied him. 
He turned again to hear what was going'on. 

“This bill, Mr. Chichester,” Gridston was saying, 
calmly, but yet with a. faint ring of triumph in his 
voice. “This bill was given to me by your son in 
payment of a debt of honor ; but it proved valueless, 
until — until ’ ’ 

“Until what?” demanded Mr. Chichester, as Grid- 
ston halted in apparent embarrassment. 


A CRUSHING BLOW. 


73 


“Well, until your name was placed on the 
back.” 

“My name! Nothing of the sort, sir!” exclaimed 
Mr. Chichester, in the greatest excitement. 

In reply, Gridston coolly turned over the bill and 
exhibited the back of it for his inspection. 

“Then how do you account for this?” he asked, 
almost insolently, pointing to the signature. 

Mr. Chichester gave one glance at the writing, and 
then he staggered back, his hand pressed to his 
heart. 

In an instant, Aileen had flown to his side, while 
the guests looked on with breathless curiosity, con- 
scious that something of more than ordinary moment 
was in question. 

“Why, this is — Great Heaven!” exclaimed Mr. 
Chichester, hoarsely. “Tell me, some one!” with an 
appealing glance about him. “Speak! Explain! Un- 
less you wish to kill me!” 

“Uncle, come away!” besought Aileen, piteously. 

“No! no!” retorted the old man, rousing himself. 
“I will know the truth! Captain Gridston, do you 
dare assert that this forgery, for it is one, is my son 
Harry’s work?” 

At these words of his father, Tom Chichester gave 
one swift look at the unhappy old man, another at 
Aileen ’s white face and trembling lips, and his reso- 
lution was taken. 


74 


A CKUSHING BLOW. 


Without waiting for Gridston to reply, he thrust 
Harry aside, and strode forward, with the magnificent 
lie upon his lips : 

“iVh, father , it is mine!" 


HEART TO HEART. 


75 


CHAPTER V. 

HEART TO HEART! 

It was a raw, chilly day in early November. The 
wind blew in gusts, and the damp, cold air seemed 
to strike to one’s very marrow. 

But Tom Chichester, as he walked along Pall Mall, 
with the collar of his shabby coat turned up about 
his ears, was thinking but little of the discomfort of 
the weather. 

There was too much upon his mind for him to 
bother himself with trifles of that sort. 

It was now considerably over a year since he had 
so nobly, if somewhat quixotically, taken upon him- 
self the burden of another’s crime. 

As soon as the excitement attendant upon his 
declaration of guilt had subsided, his father had 
promptly given a check for the sum demanded by the 
holder of the forged note, and had then proceeded no 
less promptly to cast off his eldest son, peremptorily 
forbidding him ever to show his face in his presence 
again. 

Tom, with no word of pleading or excuse, which, 
under the circumstances, was of course impossible, 
had at once left the house. 


76 


HEAR!' TO HEART. 


From that day to this, he had neither heard nor 
seen anything of his family or of any of his old 
friends. In fact, he had studiously avoided them all. 
By his own confession he was a criminal, and ' there 
v was nothing for him to do save to lfead his life as best 
he could amid new surroundings. His one consola- 
tion in the dreary days that followed was the thought 
that he had contributed to Aileen’s happiness. It was 
all wrong, absurd, perhaps, but still there was some- 
thing magnificent in his self-sacrifice. 

When Tom was thus thrown upon his own re- 
sources, he had but a slender stock of money. This, 
at first, however, did not trouble him very much, as 
he felt confident of finding something by which he 
could support himself. But in the whirlpool of Lon- 
don life, a man who has been bred a gentleman, but 
with no particular talent or aptitude, has little chance 
even for bare existence, and this Tom soon found out 
to his cost. 

Work was necessary to exist, but he could get 
none. And now on this bleak November afternoon, 
he walked down Pall Mall with the uncomfortable 
consciousness that his last penny was gone, and he 
had not the faintest idea where to turn for another. 

As he was passing one of the clubs, in which this* 
thoroughfare abounds, he heard his name spoken in a 
loud, cheery voice. 

He started, raised his head, and saw just in front 


HEART TO HEART. 


77 


of him a burly fellow, with a rosy, good-natured 
face. 

From his dress he was evidently a cabman. 

“Ah, Palfrey, is that you?” said Tom, pleasantly. 

Jim Palfrey touched his hat respectfully. 

“Yes, sir. Would you like to ride home, sir?” 

“Not to-night, thank you, Palfrey. I — I prefer to 
walk.” 

And, with a pleasant “good-evening,” Tom hur- 
ried on, and turned the corner of the next street. 

Scarcely had he disappeared than the door of the 
club-house was flung open, and a gentleman dashed 
down the steps, two at a time. 

Upon reaching the pavement, he gazed anxiously 
in the direction which Tom had taken, and then, in 
evident disappointment at not seeing what he was in 
search of, he came up to the cabman. 

Palfrey recognized him as an old customer of his, 
one of his “reg’lars,” as he called them. 

“Good-evening, Mr. Fletcher,” he said. “Do you 
want me?” 

Gillie Fletcher, for the gentleman was our old 
friend, answered, excitedly: 

“Yes, Palfrey; that is — I want to ask you a ques- 
tion. I saw you just now, from the club window, 
speaking to a friend of mine, a friend I thought 
I Fad lost forever.” 

“You mean Mr. Chichester,” said Palfrey. “Oh, 


78 


HEART TO HEART. 


yes, sir. He’s not above speaking to a fellow-lodger, 
although I’m only a cabman.” 

“A fellow-lodger, you say!” cried Fletcher, his 
face lighting up. “Then, of course, you know his 
address !” 

‘ ‘ Lord bless you, yes, indeed, sir. ’ ’ 

“Take me there at once,” said Gillie, jumping 
into the cab. 

Palfrey whipped up his horse, thinking to himself : 

“A friend, eh? Well, poor Mr. Chichester needs 
a friend now if any one ever did, I’m tliinkin’. ” 

After a drive of a quarter of an hour or so, the cab 
drew up in front of a moderately sized house in a 
rather shabby street leading off from the Strand, 
within a stone’s throw of St. Paul’s. 

Palfrey descended from his perch, and assisted his 
passenger to alight. 

“This is the place, sir. I’ll take you up’ to Mr. 
Chichester’s room, sir, if you like. It’s the third floor 
front. The horse will stand. ’ ’ 

“Thank you, Palfrey. You’re very good.” 

Fletcher followed his conductor, who opened the 
door with a latch-key, into the house. 

“Follow me, sir,” said Palfrey, beginning to 
ascend to the upper stories. 

The stairs were narrow and dark. 

“Keep hold of the banister, sir, and mind your 
head at the turning. ’ ’ 


HEART TO HEART. 


79 


But in spite of the warning, as they reached the 
* first landing, Gillie ran his head into a projection, 
ramming his hat over his eyes, which caused him to 
utter an exclamation not fit for ears polite. 

As they went up the second flight, the sound of a 
girl singing in a fresh, clear voice reached their ears. 

Palfrey, without knocking, threw open the door of 
the third floor front. 

The singer stopped in surprise. She was a bright, 
fresh -looking girl, dressed very neatly in a print frock 
and a spotless white apron. There was a quaint, old- 
fashioned air about her which was very attractive. 

“Why, Jim,” she began, and, then as she caught 
sight of the gentleman behind him, she paused, 
abashed. 

“This is a friend of Mr. Chichester’s, Becky,” said 
Palfrey. “Come in, sir, come in!” 

Fletcher entered the room. It was a fair-sized 
apartment, plainly but comfortably furnished. In the 
centre was a table, which the girl had just finished 
setting for supper. 

Becky Vetch, who was the landlady’s niece, and, 
it may be remarked, parenthetically, Jim Palfrey’s 
sweetheart as well, dropped a courtesy, awed by 
Gillie’s appearance. It was a rare occurrence for such 
an out-and-out swell to appear in that house. 

“Won’t you sit down, sir?” she said, shyly. 

“Thank you,” stammered Gillie, seating himself 


80 


HEART TO HEART. 


in the arm-chair which Becky rolled up to the fire, 
and beginning to smooth his damaged hat. 

“Why, you’ve smashed your hat, sir,” ventured 
Becky. 

“No, I didn’t,” laughed Gillie, in a friendly way, 
which did much to set the little maid at ease. “It 
was the landing. When do you expect Mr. Chichester 
to return?” 

“He ought to have been home half an hour ago, 
sir. I took it on myself to bring his tea up here, but 
I’m afraid I’ll never be able to keep it hot.” 

“And the winkles are getting cold, ” added Palfiev. 

Becky twitched him by the arm. 

“Don’t mention the winkles, Jim,” she said, in a 
reproving whisper. “They’re not aristocratic.” 

“You don’t treat me right, Becky,” returned Pal- 
frey, jealously. “You never give ’em to me.” 

“Hush, Jim!” 

Meanwhile, Fletcher had taken a card-case and 
pencil from his pocket, and written something upon 
one of the cards. 

“Palfrey,” he said, as he finished, “will you do an 
errand for me?” 

“Yes, sir. With pleasure, sir.” 

“Go to this address, ask for the lady whose name 
I have written, and give her the card. My message is 
on the back. ” 

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there in no time, sir.” 


HEART TO HEART. 


81 


And Palfrey hurried away, first blowing a kiss to 
Becky from behind Fletcher’s back. 

Gillie leaned back in his chair, and gazed into the 
coal-fire which was burning cheerily, thankful that 
he had found Tom at last, and speculating on what 
this discovery would mean. 

Becky busied herself about the room, and, after a 
time, unconsciously, began to sing. Fletcher listened 
to her, at first carelessly, and then in delight. What 
a lovely voice the girl had ! 

Suddenly Becky caught his eye, and the ballad 
died away upon her lips. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” she faltered, blushing 
and confused. “I quite forgot. ” 

1 ‘ Did you ? Then forget again ! If you always sing 
like that when you forget, why never remember.” 

“Oh, sir!” exclaimed Becky, still embarrassed, but 
nevertheless pleased at the compliment. 

“I mean it!” went on Fletcher, enthusiastically. 
“I forgive the stairs for cricking my knees, I forgive 
the landing for smashing my hat, I forgive you for 
forgetting, but until Mr. Chichester comes, you’ve 
got to sing. Sing sweet and strong, and, while you 
do, I’ll listen, and, and ” 

He rose and approached the table. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“And sample the shell-fish.” 


82 


HEART TO HEART. 


“You, sir!” protested Becky, in a shocked voice. 
“You, a gentleman, eat penny -winkles!” 

“I dote on them,” replied Fletcher, calmly. “Give 
me a pin. ’ ’ 

Becky reluctantly produced the required imple- 
ment, and Gillie at once sat down to the table and 
began to pick out and eat the despised winkles with 
evident relish. 

“Now, then, begin,” he said. 

“Oh, sir, I couldn’t,” replied Becky, bashfully. 

“But you must, and I’ll choose the song. What 
shall it be? I have it. ‘Winkle, Winkle, kittle Star. ’” 

At this, Becky could not keep from laughing. 
Gillie joined in. And then the elegant club-member 
and the little lodging-house maid laughed together 
with as much abandon as if they had been two care- 
less, happy children. 

In the midst of their merriment, the door was sud- 
denly thrown open, and Tom Chichester quickly en- 
tered the room, pausing in amazement at the sight 
which met his eyes. 

Gillie ceased laughing, and started to his feet. 

“Tom!” he cried, joyfully. 

“Fletcher!” returned the other, drawing back a 
little. 

“Oh! Fletcher be hanged!” exclaimed Gillie, im- 
petuously. “It’s your old pal, Gillie, who has hunted 
high and low for the last eighteen months, trying to 


HEART TO HEART. 


83 


find the best friend he ever had — Tom Chichester! 
But I’ve run you to earth, or, considering the stairs, 

I should say heaven, at last ! Shake hands. ’ ’ 

Tom gazed at the outstretched hand, and the tears 
involuntarily started to his eyes. 

He had been alone so long. 

‘‘Then you don’t believe,” he murmured, scarcely 
realizing what he was saying. 

“No!” returned Gillie, emphatically. “And never 
did!” 

“God bless you !” 

The hands of the two men met, and they stood 
there silently gazing into one another’s eyes. 

Becky looked from one to the other, and then 
softly slipped away. 

In another moment her sweet voice was heard out- 
side. Becky could never refrain from pouring out 
her feelings in song. 

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

In the days of auld lang syne. ’ ’ 

Her voice died away as she descended the stairs, 
and then Tom released the grasp of his friend’s hand. 
He staggered a little, and supported himself by lean- 
ing on the corner of the table. 

“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked Gillie, in alarm. 

“It’s nothing — uotliing, ” returned Tom, passing 
his hand over his face. 


84 


HEART TO HEART. 


Then, for the first time, Fletcher looked at him 
scrutinizingly, and was startled at the alteration in 
his appearance. 

“Poor old chum !” he muttered. “How changed 
you are! What is it, old fellow? Tell a pal. You’re 
as white as a woman, and you’re weak.” 

“I’ve had a hard time of it, Gillie,” replied Tom, 
almost breaking down. “I beg your pardon, Gill, 
but ” 

“I understand, old chap,” interrupted Fletcher, 
sympathetically. “It’s all right. A fit of the blues. I 
often get them myself. It’s the fog, it’s ” 

“No, no, Gill! But first tell me about my father, 
and my sister, and — and — Aileen. ’ ’ 

Fletcher smiled. 

“All right, old chap,” he said, brightly. “I will, 
if you wish, but they’ll be here soon to speak for 
themselves. ’ ’ 

“Here!” cried Tom, dashing the chair behind him, 
and with the color he so much needed flushing warm 
in his face. 

“Yes. Don’t get excited, old chap. I’ve arranged 
it all. Your friend, the cabman, has gone to fetch 
them. ” 

This was an astounding revelation to Tom. 

What ! He was to see his family— and soon ? He 
had not dared to acknowledge to himself before how 
he had longed for them. 


HEART TO HEART. 


85 


“My father!” he exclaimed, half amazed, half 
shrinking at the ordeal. “My father coming here! 
For what?” 

“For what!” repeated Gillie. “Why, to ask yonr 
forgiveness, of course!” 

For a moment, Tom was utterly dumfounded, and 
then, as a possibility of the truth implied in Fletcher’s 
words flashed over him, he said, with a gasp: 

“Then he has found out?” 

“Everything!” answered Fletcher, shortly but to 
the point. 

There was a silence broken only by Tom’s heavy 
breathing. After all, he was not an angel, and it was 
an enormous relief to him to know that he was no 
longer resting beneath that horrible onus which he 
had lifted voluntarily to his shoulders. But this some- 
what selfish, though entirely natural, sensation lasted 
only for a moment. Then he exclaimed, with a quick 
revulsion of feeling: 

“Poor Harry!” 

“Sit down! Sit down!” said Fletcher, who really 
had but little sympathy with the person of his friend’s 
commiseration, brother though he was of that friend. 
“Tell me something of yourself. You’ve been a bit 
downish, eh?” 

Tom, sinking into a chair, raised his haggard eyes 
to his friend’s face. 

“If it hadn’t been for the good people of this house, ” 


66 


HEART TO HEART. 


he confessed, frankly, * ‘I don’t know what would ha,ve 
become of me. What is a man like me worth in 
London? He is a bit of humanity, no more, that must 
eat and drink and be respectable, and obey the laws. I 
should have done better to have gone back to the 
country, and worked in the fields as I used to. In 
this overgrown city, there are thousands who take the 
name of Christians, and yet make their fellow-cjrea- 
tures live as articles of commerce. I speak bitterly, 
old man, but truthfully. I’ve been through the mill, 
and it’s crushed my heart. ’ ’ 

Fletcher realized then something of what the poor 
fellow had suffered, and his heart went out to 
him with a burst of tenderness and pity. 

“Then we must stick to it together, old chappie,” 
he said, earnestly, and yet, with the reserve so char- 
acteristic of the true Englishman, feeling a little 
ashamed of his emotion. “With friendship’s patent 
cement, we’ll try to make a job of it. ” 

The clatter of footsteps upon the stairs startled 
them both. 

Had those whom Fletcher had sent for already ar- 
rived ? 

Not exactly. It was only their precursor — little 
Becky, who entered breathlessly, in her excitement, 
not having taken the precaution to knock. 

“Oh, if you please, sir, ” she exclaimed. “Jim — I — 
I mean the cabman — has come with the most beauti- 


HEART TO HEART. 


87 


ful young lady ever seen, that is, outside a wax- 
works. She wants Mr. Fletcher. That is you, sir, 
isn’t it?” turning to Gillie. 

“Yes. It must be Gracie !” 

“Wait a minute,” cried Tom. “My sister! I’ll go 
to her!” 

But before he could take two steps, a dark -robed 
figure appeared in the door- way. It was not Gracie, 
however. It was somebody far dearer to Tom even 
than his sister. 

“Aileen!” he murmured, fuming pale even to the 
lips. 

As usual in such cases, the woman was far the 
more composed, at least outwardly, of the two. 

“How do you do, cousin Tom!” she said, advanc- 
ing, and holding out both hands. 

Tom caught them in his, and then they stood mo- 
tionless, face to face, at last, eyes plunged in eyes. 

Becky nodded her head sagaciously. Her experi- 
ence with Jim Palfrey had taught her something. 
Cousin Tom ! Of course, anybody with half an eye 
could see that she wasn’t his sister. And, with this 
deduction, wise Becky withdrew. 

“But where is father?” asked Tom, tremulously, 
after he had recovered himself a little, but still with 
his eyes fixed devouringly upon what was to him the 
fairest face in all the world. “And Gracie!” 

It was with a certain effort, in spite of all the reso- 


88 


HEART TO HEART. 


lutions she had made to maintain her self-control, 
that Aileen replied : 

“They had gone for a walk when Mr. Fletcher 
sent and said, ‘Come at once. I have found Tom.’ 
So — so,” faltering despite herself, “as they were out, 
I — I came at once, but I left a message. ’ ’ 

Now Gillie Fletcher, in spite of all his nonsense 
and love of fun, had a pretty level head upon his 
shoulders, and he realized that, at this stage of the 
game, his presence was not desired. 

“All right, ” he said. “I know where Gracie — I 
mean they always take their walks — I’ll soon find 
them. Good-by. I’m off!” 

Aileen had crossed to the fire-place, and, with one 
foot upon the fender, was gazing down into the coals, 
determined at all costs not to betray how deeply this 
meeting, after so long an interval, with the man she 
loved but who she believed did not love her save with 
a brotherly affection, had affected her. 

Tom, after a glance at the graceful figure, whose 
back was toward him, crossed hurriedly to Fletcher, 
intercepting him before he could leave the room. 

“One word, Gillie,” he said, in a smothered whis- 
per. “Is — is Aileen my brother’s wife?” 

“No,” replied Fletcher, smiling, but in an equally 
guarded way, “nor likely to be.” 

Tom turned white, and then the blood rushed hotly 
into his face, dyeing it crimson from chin to forehead. 


HEART TO HEART. 


He had hardly dared to ask the question, but at the 
answer, he felt as if the gates of Paradise, once closed 
upon him, we r e now opening wide before him. 

Fletcher caught him by the arm. He realized that 
the time had come for him to speak, and to speak 
frankly from his superior knowledge as an onlooker. 

“Look here, Tom, old fellow,” he said, in a very 
low, but serious voice. “You’ll excuse what I’m 
going to say. But, if you think Aileen ever loved 
Harry, you are — well, a colossal ass ain’t in it, don’t 
you know? Take a tip! There’s another fellow she 
cares for ! Think it over ! Give the ass a chance. 
Look here, ’ ’ looking full in the face Tom, who was 
almost gasping with the possibility thus suddenly 
opened before him, “I’ve seen it all along. I’m a 
senseless idiot in some things, I admit, but,” with 
force, “I’m not a damned fool!” 

With these words, Gillie wrenched himself away, 
and before Tom, who longed to hear something more 
explicit, could prevent him by word or action, he had 
darted out of the room, discreetly closing the door 
behind him. 

Tom, half stupefied, half overjoyed, stared after 
him for a moment, and then he turned to where 
Aileen stood, the firelight glowing warmly upon her 
graceful figure. 

“Give the ass a chance!” he repeated, to himself. 
“Who is the ass, I wonder?” 


90 


HEART TO HEART. 


It was growing dark in the room, and, with an 
instinctive movement, even while his thoughts were 
elsewhere, he turned to pull back the curtain to let 
in more light. As he did so, he came in front of a 
small table, on which rested a hand-mirror. 

He paused, looked back at the glass for a moment, 
and then picked it up and held it before him. 

“I believe the ass is looking me in the face!” he 
thought to himself, with a thrill of happiness, to 
which his breast had been a stranger for many a long 
day. 

“Cousin Tom!” 

“Yes, Aileen,” starting and putting the glass down 
quickly, and turning to Aileen, who was still stand- 
ing with her back toward him. 

“What do yon think of yourself ?” 

“Eh?” ejaculated Tom, foolishly. 

Aileen broke into a merry laugh. 

( ‘ Ha ! ha ! ha ! I saw you in there, ’ ’ pointing to 
the mirror over the fire-place. 

Poor Tom, thus caught, blushed to the roots of 
his hair. 

Then, with a sudden and desperate resolution, he 
picked up the hand-glass again, and crossed to 
Aileen ’s side. 

Holding up the glass before her, he said, half im- 
periously, half beseechingly: 

“L,ook! What do you see?” 


HEART TO HEART. 


91 


“ My own face, of course, ” replied Aileen, trem- 
bling just a little for fear, or perhaps for hope, of 
what was to come next. 

“Tell me,” said Tom, tenderly, pointing to the 
reflection, “is the face there quite the same as that 
you saw in the glass this morning?” 

Aileen looked up at him for a moment, and then 
into the mirror again. 

“No, Tom, ” she answered, gravely. “Not quite 
the same!” 

“How is it changed?” 

“It looks brighter,” she said, slowly, looking in- 
tently into the glass, “and not so sad.” 

“Happier, then?” 

“Yes, Tom,” with no hesitation, and speaking 
quite frankly and openly. 

“Thank God!” he ejaculated, fervently, his whole 
face aglow with happiness and hope. 

“Cousin Tom,” interposed Aileen, as he was about 
to return the glass to its place. 

Tom paused. 

“Come back!” she added, with a sweet imperious- 
ness. “Bring the glass with you.^ I want it.” 

She took the glass from him, and held it up before 
him, the same as he had done to her. 

“What do you see?” she asked, wistfully. 

Tom looked, and tried to speak. 

“I — I cannot,” he confessed. 


92 


HEAliT TO HEART. 


“Then I will. Not the merry, happy-go-lucky 
Tom Chichester I used to know, but — ” and her 
voice trembled and grew very tender, “but a man 
whose hair is whitening at the temples, whose face is 
gray, and all this I fear through what he has 
suffered.” 

“Aileen!” 

He turned toward her with a doubtful expression, 
as if he scarcely dared to cherish the new hope which 
was budding in his breast. He did not quite under- 
stand yet, or rather did not dare to understand. 

Her beautiful violet eyes met his with truth and 
constancy shining in their depths. 

When she spoke again, her voice was scarcely 
above a whisper. 

“fou see the face of a brave, true man, who, for 
his father’s sake, took upon himself the burden of 
his brother’s sin! — don’t speak, Tom!” as with quiv- 
ering lips, he attempted to interrupt. “Put down 
that glass, and look me in the eyes. ’ ’ 

Tom slowly obeyed, and for a moment they stared 
at each other, as if trying to read one another’s very 
soul. 

Then, with a burst of joy, her whole fair face 
flooded with happiness, Aileen cried, rapturously : 

“Yes, I knew it! Though I never doubted it from 
the first!” 


“You thought me innocent!” 


HEART TO HEART. 


93 


“Always, Tom! The truth is mirrored in your 
eyes. This,” pointing to the glass, “only allows the 
face, your face reflects your heart.” 

“Does it?” cried Tom, the blood surging through 
his veins, his brain on fire with the happiness he now 
felt was within his grasp. “Then, look again, and 
see what else it says. ’ ’ 

He took both her hands in his, and drew her un- 
resistingly toward him. 

“Hush! Not a word!” he continued, with the ut- 
most tenderness. “Took me now in the eyes. You 
say the truth is in them. Took closer ; for my eyes 
reflect the whispers in my heart. Whispers? No! 
Voices! Voices loud and strong, and full of joy. 
Voices that say, ‘You love Aileen! you love Aileen!’ 
‘Tell us, does she love you?’ How shall I reply to 
the voices? Aileen, darling, give my heart its an- 
swer!” 

With a lovely rose flush tinting the delicate oval of 
her cheek, and her eyes shining with that light that 
never was on land or sea, Aileen gently released one 
of her hands, and stretched it out for the mirror. 

She held the glass up again in front of both of 
them. 

“What do you see now, Tom?” she murmured. 

A little bird in Tom’s bosom was singing a very 
paean of ecstasy. 


94 


HEART TO HEART. 


“Two very happy faces,” he answered, “very close 
together. ’ ’ 

“And the hearts are very close together, too. Tom, 
dear, tell the voices so. ’ ’ 

His arms stole about her, and he drew her close to 
his breast, both under the spell of that wondrous feel- 
ing, ever new, ever old, the most precious gift that 
has ever been or ever will be vouchsafed to hu- 
manity. 


BROKEN DOWN. 


95 


CHAPTER VI. 

BROKEN DOWN. 

When Becky Vetch knocked and entered some ten 
minutes later, the sight of the two happy faces told 
that discriminating young female much of the truth. 

‘ ‘ Humph ! any one with half an eye could see she 
wasn’t his cousin,” she said to herself, and then 
added, aloud, in the most innocent manner in the 
world : 

“Did you ring, sir?” 

“No, Becky.” 

“I thought you did. The gentleman who was here 
just now told me more cousins, I mean , visitors, are 
expected, and I was to boil the kettle. ’ ’ 

As she spoke, she went over to the grate and placed 
the kettle which she held in her hand upon the coals. 

Just at that moment the sound of wheels was heard 
in the street. 

Tom ran to the window, followed by Becky. 

“Here they are!” he cried. 

“No, sir,” said Becky, peeping over his shoulder. 
“It’s only Jim. He’s coming up.” 

In a minute or two Palfrey appeared with the an- 
nouncement that the two g^nts and the young lady 


9tf 


BROKEN DOWN. 


were following in a four-wheeler, as they didn’t wish 
to be separated. 

“They’re coming!” exclaimed Becky, who had 
remained at the window. “I’ll go down and let them 
in.” 

But Tom checked her. 

“No, you stay here, Becky,” he said, excitedly. 
“I’ll open the door for my father myself,” and he 
hurried away on his errand. 

“Sister — cousin — father!” thought Becky. “We 
shall be quite a family party soon. ” 

Grade was the first to appear, followed by Fletcher, 
who was laden with wraps and parcels. 

“Oh! I’m so happy!” cried Gracie, running to 
Aileen and kissing her. 

Gillie stood bewildered, not knowing what to do 
with his burden. 

“Give them to me, sir,” said Becky, at the 'same 
time deftly relieving him. 

Then .she turned and summoned Palfrey to come 
to her side. 

“Mr. Palfrey,” she said, in a dignified way. 

“Yes, Miss Vetch. ” 

“We’re not wanted here, Jim,” she whispered. 
‘ ‘ Come away ! ’ ’ 

“Anywhere with you, Becky,” whispered in return 
her devoted swain, “and perhaps you’ll give me a 
kiss on the stairs. ’ ’ 


BROKEN DOWN. 


“The idea!” with a toss of her head. 

But she did not look very angry, and it is safe to 
say that Jim obtained what he desired. 

“What did your father say when he heard the 
news?” asked Aileen, of Gracie. 

“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Fletcher, I think he 
would have fallen. He has only spoken once since, 
and then he said, ‘Take me to him.’ ” 

Before Aileen could ask anything further, the voice 
of Tom was heard outside encouraging his father. 

“Rest a moment, sir ! That’s right. Fean on me, 
dad. Take my arm. Only a few more steps, and here 
we are. ’ ’ 

And then Tom came into the room, with his arm 
about his father, supporting him. 

Mr. Chichester had changed very much since we 
saw him last at the time of the birthday party in 
Raymond street. His hair was almost white now, and 
he looked very, very feeble. 

Aileen came forward to Tom’s assistance, and be- 
tween them, they brought the old man to the fire. 

“Father! dear old governor !” said Tom, tremu- 
lously, placing a hand on each of his father’s shoul- 
ders. “Welcome, and thank God we meet again! 
Shake hands, governor!” 

“Not yet, Tom! not yet,” replied Mr. Chichester, 
speaking with difficulty, and with very little expres- 
sion in his words. “I’ve something to say first.” 


98 


BROKEN DOWN. 


“Dad, I don’t want to hear anything about what’s 
past, so there’s an end to it.” 

“If you won’t listen,” replied Mr. Chichester, 
weakly, and with a certain irritability, “I shall go 
away. ’ ’ 

Toni, still with his hands upon his father’s shoul- 
ders, answered, with much tenderness: 

“Well, father, I’ll listen.” 

Mr. Chichester tried to speak. He passed his hand 
nervously across his lips, and then looked about him. 
As he saw the others who were watching him, he ap- 
peared confused and unable to say what he wanted in 
their presence. 

Tom watched him with the greatest anxiety. It 
was terrible for him to see his father so broken. 

Fletcher, too, read the old man’s thoughts, and he 
said to Gracie, in a low voice : 

“Come and look out of the window. The view is 
immense. ” 

Gracie followed him to the window, where the out- 
look, with the myriad sparkling lights of the great 
city, was really superb. 

“Shall we go away?” murmured Aileen to Tom. 
“I can’t bear to see him suffer.” 

“Go to Gracie. ” 

Mr. Chichester had come close to the mantle-piece, 
and was leaning his head upon his hand, gazing va- 
cantly into the fire. 


BROKEN DOWN. 


99 


Tom went over to him, and touched him on the 
arm. 

“Well, dad?” 

Mr. Chichester turned, his face working with agi- 
tation. 

“Tom,” he said, speaking with the utmost diffi- 
culty, “since I have known who is really guilty, since 
I knew my life was wrecked by the love of a thank- 
less son, and that a gulf of shame and hideous dis- 
grace is between us and your brother, life has been a 

misery to me. Only one thing has kept me from ’ ’ 

He paused, shuddered, and passed his hand in a be- 
wildered way over his eyes. “It was the hope of see- 
ing you again. Harry is gone. I don’t know where 
he is. Poor Harry! Poor Harry!” 

And the tears rolled down his wan face. 

“Dad!” exclaimed Tom, almost crying himself. 

“Over and over again have I repeated to myself 
what I should say to you if we met,” continued Mr. 
Chichester, shaking in every limb. “Your dead 
mother put the words into my heart, Tom. I knew 
them yesterday, I knew them as I came in the cab ; 
but I can’t speak them now! I can’t speak them now! 
They’re gone, Tom,” looking up at his son in help- 
less agony. “What shall I say? For God’s sake, tell 
me ! What can I say to you, my boy ? What shall I 
do?” 

Tom was deeply moved at this change in the father 


100 


BROKEN DOWN. 


whom he remembered so stalwart, so self-reliant, but 
he did his best to hide his emotion. 

“Don’t think anything more about that, father, ” 
he said. “Let me take off your overcoat, and make 
you comfortable.” 

The old gentleman made no demur. He was like a 
child in his weakness. 

As Tom removed the coat, something fell with a 
clang from one of the pockets. The young man 
stooped and picked it up, and, then, with a start of 
horror, wheeled about and looked at his father. 

It was a revolver ! 

Mr. Chichester gave one glance at the weapon, and 
turned shiveringly from it. 

“Take it away, Tom! Hide it from me, for 
Heaven’s sake !” 

Tom, with a heavy sigh, turned to Fletcher, who 
happened at that moment to be watching them, and 
beckoned him to him. 

“Put this out of sight, old man,” he whispered, 
“and take care the girls don’t see it.” 

“I understand.” 

Gillie took the pistol, and with his back toward the 
window, where the girls were standing, examined it. 

It was loaded ! 

He looked round to see where he could hide it, and 
finally dropped it into one of the pockets of Tom’s 
overcoat, which had been thrown over a chair. 


BROKEN DOWN. 


101 


There, at all events, it would be safe. 

Then, he rejoined Aileen and Gracie at the 
window. 

Tom put his arm around his father, and turning 
the old man so that he could look into his face, said, 
with the deepest sympathy and utmost kindness, and 
yet with a certain firmness : 

“Now listen to me, father. I know what’s the 
matter with you, with all of us. We miss Harry!” 

“Tom!” ejaculated the old man, shivering like an 
aspen leaf. 

“Sit down and hear me out,” said Tom, gently 
forcing him down into the arm-chair beside the fire. 
“Yes, we miss Harry. And, after all, he’s been more 
the scape-goat than the lost sheep. Well,” with de- 
termination, “we mean to find him and bring him 
back to the fold !” 

Mr. Chichester half rose from his chair, with a cry 
of joy, which showed how close his erring son still 
was to his heart. 

“You’ll find my Harry?” 

“If I search Tondon to do it!” replied Tom, and 
he meant every word he said. “And then we’ll live 
together again. And our home shall be a place of 
peace and shelter, where I’ll take care no one shall 
wound or hurt you. ” 

The strained expression left the old gentleman’s 


102 


BROKEN DOWN. 


face and liis eyes sought Tom with a look of infinite 
gratitude. 

“Ring the bell, somebody,” said Tom. 

Gillie pulled the rope, and in a few minutes Becky 
appeared in answer to the summons, and was asked 
by Tom to send Palfrey up at once. 

While they were waiting, Tom, assisted by the 
girls, made his father as comfortable as possible, 
giving him a pipe and the especial glass of grog he 
most favored. 

Mr. Chichester, encouraged by Tom’s promise to 
find the son he still loved in spite of all that son’s 
faults, was more like his old self than he had been 
for months. 

“Shall you want me, sir, this evening, ” asked Pal- 
frey, as he came awkwardly into the room, embar- 
rassed at the presence of so much of the gentry. 

“Yes, Jim,” replied Tom. And then, addressing 
Fletcher, he said, earnestly: “Gillie, to-night we’ll 
start to find my brother. You’ll help me, I know!” 

“With everything I have in this world!” replied 
Gillie, promptly and emphatically. “I think I know 
where to catch him. Reave it to me ! Cheer up, Mr. 
Chichester! You stay here, and within twelve hours, 
we’ll have Harry at your side!” 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


103 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE ASPASIA CLUB. 

The Aspasia Club, situated upon the Thames Em- 
bankment, was scarcely a place where a man would 
care to take his wife or sister. Still, it was a very 
magnificent establishment indeed, conducted with a 
certain regard to the proprieties. The gambling was 
sometimes high, but the proprietor boasted, and prob- 
ably with a certain amount of truth, that everything 
was “on the dead square.” 

It was a place to which women were admitted, but 
none frequented it save those whom the younger Du- 
mas has so felicitously described as belonging to the 
half- world. They were speckled peaches, all of them, 
but in many cases, it required a keen eye to discover 
the little spot which cheapened them and placed them 
in the second-class basket. 

One of the most luxurious apartments in the club 
was the drawing-room, a little garish in its decora- 
tions, perhaps, but still very handsome. The walls 
were painted with elaborate life-size figures, repre- 
senting the various gods and goddesses of mythologi- 
cal Olympus. In recesses were colored statues of As- 


104 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


pasia, Lais, and Phryne, illuminated by amber electric 
lights. The hard-wood floor was covered with superb 
and costly rugs and the furniture was a glitter of 
gilding and glistening brocade. 

At one side was a large plate-glass window, open- 
ing on to a broad veranda, from which could be seen 
a view of the Thames looking up toward London 
Bridge. Opposite was an archway partially vailed by 
rich portieres, through which was revealed a glimpse 
of the ball-room, where every evening fashionable 
men and elegantly dressed women waltzed to the 
strains of an excellent string band. 

Nothing was spared by the proprietors, who, by 
the way, preserved a strict incognito, to make the 
place a success, and they were generally supposed to 
be coining money. It was certainly the most popular 
place of its class in London, and some of the best 
known names in society, among the men, of course, 
occasionally figured in its list of guests. 

On the night in which we shall venture to intro- 
duce our readers to the Aspasia Club, the drawing- 
room was empty. The ball-room, however, was 
crowded with a brilliant company, and the music of 
a sensuous waltz floated on the air. 

Suddenly the portieres were pushed aside impa- 
tiently, and a very handsome woman entered the 
room. Her gown of blue velvet and her exquisite or- 
naments of sapphires were exceedingly becoming to 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


105 


her blonde beauty. Beatrice Moreland was. one of the 
best known and most admired among those mem- 
bers of the half-world who occupy villas in St. John’s 
Wood. 

She was followed by a tall, thin, rather cadaverous 
young man, who wore a somewhat bored expres- 
sion. 

And, indeed, Dennis Sheridan, an American, who 
had made his fortune and come to Europe to enjoy 
it, was beginning to get a little weary of the ceaseless 
round of gayety .and dissipation, and to turn his eyes 
longingly toward home. 

“Some wine! Quick, my friend, or I shall faint!” 
exclaimed Beatrice, rapidly and nervously, as, regard- 
less of the danger of crushing her superb dress, she 
flung herself down into one of the arm-chairs. 

Sheridan went to one of the doors and beckoned a 
gorgeously liveried footman who was passing with a 
salver bearing bottles and glasses. 

Beatrice feverishly drank off at a draught the wine 
presented -to her. 

After the footman had gone, Sheridan came and 
leaned over the back of her chair. 

“You’re not yourself to-night,” a touch of pity in 
the high-pitched tones of his voice. “Why don’t you 
go home?” 

But at this suggestion Beatrice stamped her foot 
impatiently. 


106 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


“No, no, no !” she exclaimed, emphatically. “I 
stay ! Stay always ! ’ ’ 

“And I know why — to see Harry Chichester. 
You’d better be careful.” 

Beatrice threw up her handsome head. 

“Careful !” she repeated, with angry scorn. “Why? 
Of whom?” 

“Now don’t get angry, Beatrice,” murmured Sher- 
idan, soothingly, “but you know he belongs to some 
one else. ’ ’ 

“ Rubbish !” was the contemptuous retort. “No 
one belongs to any one nowadays ! The wind changes 
— man tires, and hearts are broken. Round goes the 
weather-cock ! Mended, my dear boy, till the next 
storm, and that’s as it should be.” 

Before Sheridan could reply to this speech of 
caustic philosophy, a footman entered with a card 
upon a silver salver, which he presented to the young 
American. 

Sheridan glanced at the card, and a slight expres- 
sion of surprise appeared upon his face. 

“Where is the gentleman?” he asked. 

“In the visitor’s room, sir.” 

“Say I’ll come at once.” 

The footman bowed and departed. 

“Beatrice,” said Sheridan, appealingly, to his 
companion, “let me send you home.” 

“No,” she replied, rising, “I remain.” 


THE ASPAS1A CLUB. 


107 


u You want to see the Panther?” 

“Perhaps,” with a smile not altogether pleasant to 

see. 

“Why?” 

Beatrice looked him full in the face, half quizzi- 
cally, half seriously. 

“Because I think to-night the wind will change,” 
she said, significantly. 

And, with a defiant laugh, she swept herself, her 
velvets and laces, into the ball-room. 

Sheridan shrugged his shoulders. He ought to have 
known the futility of attempting to reason with a 
willful woman. 

Then he glanced again at the card which he still 
held in his hand. Gillespie Fletcher! What in mor- 
ality’s name did he want there? Well, the best way 
was to go and find out. Scarcely had he disappeared 
than a small door near one of the alcoves opened, and 
two men emerged. 

One was the so-called Captain Gridston, and the 
other, his more or less faithful henchman, Treacher. 

Gridston cast a quick glance about the room, and, 
seeing that it was empty, asked : 

“Are you sure this information is correct?” 

“Quite. My man is to be relied on. They left their 
house this afternoon, followed by my informant to 
the lodgings of the long-lost son. There has been an 
explanation and forgiveness all round. Now,” most 


108 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


seriously, and Treacher was really serious in this, 
because he saw money accruing to himself, if his ad- 
vice were followed. “Now, the best thing you can do 
is to marry Miss Millar, with her fortune, as soon as 
you can. Don’t lose time! Marry her!” 

And the tricky lawyer darted away, leaving the 
seed he had sown to germinate. 

Gridston started to follow him, and then stopped. 
This was not quite a new idea to him, but it was the 
first time it had been put into words. 

Marry her! Well, it was worth trying, perhaps, 
but it was long, very long odds against success. 

He could not forget one evening when he had ven- 
tured over the line, and she had turned on him, her 
blue eyes cutting like a knife. 

As he stood there, revolving these things in his 
mind, his solitude was broken in upon. 

Three gentlemen entered the room. 

“Ah, Sherry, my boy, good-evening, ” said Grid- 
ston, saluting the first, who returned him a careless 
nod. 

Then, as he saw the second, he extended his hand 
with a certain surprise. 

“Ah, Fletcher!” 

But Gillie, with a slight uprising of his brows, ig- 
nored the proffered hand, and crossed over to the en- 
trance of the ball-room. 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


109 


The third man, however, was the one that really 
astounded Captain Gridston. 

‘ ‘ Tom Chichester ! ’ ’ 

“Yes, Captain Gridston,” replied Tom, but with a 
darkening of his brows and an ominous tightening of 
his lips. 

“What business have you here?” demanded Grid- 
ston, casting all diplomacy to the winds. 

“That is a question y ou have no right to put,” 
answered Tom, quietly, but with a certain dangerous 
intensity. “Unless,” after a pause impregnated with 
meaning, “unless, as is more than likely, you are the 
proprietor of this very desirable establishment. ’ ’ 

It was very evident that Tom was in no frame of 
mind to mince his words, and, as a matter of fact, 
there was more truth than poetry in his statement. 
He had been brought to the Aspasia Club by Gillie, 
who had a pretty clear idea that Harry would be 
found there ; and he was determined to discover his 
brother, in spite of any obstacles that might inter- 
vene. 

“Whatever this establishment may be,” replied 
Gridston, angrily, “we draw the line at fel ” 

But before he could complete the word, Tom thun- 
dered, with clinched fist: 

“Stop! or I’ll strike you down where you stand !” 

Gridston thought discretion the better part of valor, 
but, nevertheless, he turned fiercely upon Sheridan. 


110 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


“Did you introduce these men?” 

“No,” interrupted Fletcher, stepping forward, and 
speaking in his most aggravating and aggravated 
drawl. “The men introduced themselves. We have 
the right to do so. ’ ’ 

“Eh?” ejaculated Gridston, taken aback, and 
gnawing his under lip in impotent rage. 

“Yes,” went on Gillie, with the calmest and most 
provoking insolence, “we called to see our friend, 
Harry. We were nominated at once, and seconded by 
the hall porter. A committee of emergency was called 
upon the door-mat. We were elected, and paid our 
subscriptions, all under three minutes and a half. 
And,” with a patronizing glance about him, “a very 
snug place we’ve got into — most select.” 

Gridston ground his teeth in anger. 

“I congratulate you,” he snapped, crossing to go 
into the ball-room and so escape these vailed insults, 
which, under the circumstances, lie could not re- 
sent. 

But Tom stopped him. 

“One moment,” he said, stepping in front of him. 
“You doubtless guess the reason I’m here. Where’s 
my brother?” 

“Find out!” snarled Gridston. 

“I mean to! And you’ve got to help me!” 

“Really!” with a sneering smile. 

“Yes,” asseverated Tom, sternly. “He’s still un- 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. Ill 

der tlie influence of that woman. You know where 
she lives. Give me her address !” 

“I’ll see you hanged first!” almost screamed Grid- 
ston. 

And, before any of the three could guess his inten- 
tion or make move to prevent him, he darted away 
suddenly, and disappeared through the little door be- 
side the alcove which contained the statue of As- 
pasia. 

Tom rushed after him, but it was too late. The 
door had closed with a click behind the fugitive, and 
it was securely locked. 

“That’s the private exit to the street,” remarked 
Sheridan, “only to be used in case of need.” 

“Then he can’t escape!” cried Tom. “Palfrey is 
in the street outside with his cab. I’ll watch for 
Gridston there. I promised them I’d save Harry, and 
I’ll keep my word. ” 

And, without waiting to hear aught from the 
others, he rushed away to watch the exterior of the 
club. 

“Are you going, too?” asked the American, phleg- 
matically, of Fletcher. 

Gillie considered the matter for a moment, and 
then replied : 

“Not a bit of it ! I’ve paid my subscription, and, 
hang it ! I’m going to see the fun !” 

There was more method in this declaration than 


112 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


was apparent. Gillie thought if there was one out- 
side, it was just as well to have one inside. 

But he did not see any necessity for explaining this 
to Sheridan, good fellow though he knew him to be. 

He linked his arm in that of the American, and 
drew him away into the ball-room. 

Gridston was altogether too clever to continue on 
his way to the street. He had no desire to have 
any futher controversy with Tom Chichester. He 
therefore returned by a roundabout way to the ball- 
room. 

But just before he reached there, in one of the hall- 
ways he came face to face with Treacher. 

The lawyer was evidently very much excited. He 
rushed up to Gridston, and clutched him by the arm. 

‘‘Thank Heaven! I’ve found you! Do you know 
who is here?” 

“Oh, yes, I know,” replied Gridston, impatiently. 
“Tom Chichester! He’s no one !” with a scorn he 
was really far from feeling inwardly. 

“But some one else is!” retorted Treacher. “And 
that some one else is — Fretly Burnsides!” 

“What!” cried Gridston, starting back, and his 
attention now thoroughly aroused. 

“Yes, her husband,” continued Treacher, with 
suppressed excitement, an excitement which, by the 
way, was thoroughly justified. “The man who was 
sentenced for the Tandbeck Bank job, you know.” 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


113 


Gridston did know only too well, as the finding 
guilty of this man was largely his own doing. 

“He was discharged last week. How he got here, 
Heaven only knows ! He’s half mad, half drunk, and 
he’s found out all about Cynthia, and swears he’ll do 
for the man who robbed him of her. ’ ’ 

Gridston turned pale. His mind went back to the 
time when mad with love for Fretly Burnsides’ wife, 
he had sworn that he would obtain possession of her 
by fair means or foul, and he had accomplished his 
purpose by foul means, it must be acknowledged, 
rather than by fair. He it was *who, discovering 
Burnsides’ embezzlement, committed through a de- 
sire to give the wife he loved, all that her extrava- 
gance desired, had denounced him, and, after the sen- 
tence of the poor man, who was more sinned against 
than sinning, had pleaded his suit only too success- 
fully with the wife. 

“Does he suspect any one?” gasped Gridston, real- 
izing the danger that was threatening him. 

“No!” 

Gridston once more breathed freely. 

“Where is he?” he asked. 

“In the buffet, drinking at my expense, curse the 
luck !” 

“No, Treacher, bless it,” replied Gridston, laugh- 
ing aloud in his relief. 

He stood silent for a moment, ruminating, and 


114 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


then, as a sudden and most brilliant idea struck him, 
a way in which this most unexpected appearance of 
Burnsides could be worked to his own advantage, he 
clutched Treacher by the arm. 

“This is the best thing that has happened to me 
for many a long day. Come, take me to him !” 

* * * * — * * * 

“My dear boy, get me my cloak, and then — and 
then you had better say good-night, and run away.” 

The speaker was Beatrice Moreland, and her com- 
panion was Harry Chichester. 

They had but a moment before finished a waltz, 
and had retired into a tiny glass-roofed conservatory 
just off of the ball-room. 

The last year had not improved Harry Chichester 
either in appearance or in character. 

He had accepted his brother’s sacrifice, but not 
without many a qualm of conscience, and, whenever 
he allowed himself to think of it, with the utmost 
self-contempt. 

He had kept his word, and proposed to Aileen, 
only to be rejected gently but firmly. 

This, in itself, was a relief to him. 

Then had come the discovery, or rather suspicion 
which amounted to a certainty that he was the forger, 
and not Tom. 

After a stormy interview with his father, Harry 
had flung himself out of the paternal mansion, but 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


115 


while he refused to return, he was not too proud to 
accept the allowance which his doting father, after his 
first anger, offered him through Gillie Fletcher. 

Since then, he had lived a life of dissipation, his 
infatuation for Cynthia Dell increasing rather than 
diminishing. The Panther was a past mistress in the 
art of holding her lovers, and in this case her own 
heart, if she had one, was not a little interested. 

Harry to-night was in anything but a good temper. 

Cynthia had promised to meet him at the Aspasia, 
but, as yet, she had not put in an appearance. 

To while away the time he had endeavored to 
amuse himself in the company of Beatrice Moreland, 
a rather dangerous experiment if he had but known it. 

For Beatrice’s somewhat fickle fancy had been cap- 
tivated by his handsome face and youthful charm, and 
she had determined to dispute with the Panther the 
right to his possession. 

“Run away !” repeated Harry, in reply to Bea- 
trice’s suggestion. “Why should I?” 

Beatrice’s lips wreathed themselves in a smile, a 
smile which expressed far more than she would have 
either cared or dared to put into words. 

“Are you not afraid?” she asked. 

“Afraid!” repeated Harry, looking at her in sur- 
prise. “What should I be afraid of?” 

“Oh,” replied Beatrice, still smiling, but with an 
inward tremor. To do her justice, she was only afraid 


11 6 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


of offending Harry, and so hurting herself. For the 
rest she cared little. “Oh, of her! Of your love, your 
wild beast, your Panther, of course?” 

Harry was far from being pleased with this speech. 
He cared nothing for Beatrice Moreland, and he did 
care a great deal for the woman whom he felt she was 
sneering at. But, before he could frame a reply, a 
clear, rich voice startled them both. 

“Ah, Beatrice, speaking of me!” 

Cynthia Dell had entered the little conservatory 
unperceived, and was standing not ten feet from 
them. 

Beatrice started, and then turned to confront the 
woman she knew to be her rival and her enemy. 

“Yes,” she said, boldly, with a sneer she took lit- 
tle pains to conceal; “of your conquests, of your good 
luck, of — of your age.” 

The Panther’s black eyes flashed, but there was a 
smile upon her lips, and she fanned lierself with stud- 
ied nonchalance, as she replied, without a tremor in 
her voice : 

“I understand perfectly, and appreciate the situa- 
tion. Success nowadays, my dear Beatrice, no matter 
what the line of business may be, is a crime, and it 
is the duty of the unsuccessful to punish it. I bow 
my head humbly to my unfair executioner.” 

And she swept a magnificent but mocking cour- 
tesy to the angry Beatrice. 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


117 


Harry Chichester looked as he felt, decidedly un- 
comfortable. What can a man do when two women 
are on the verge of quarreling? 

In spite of the fact that Cynthia had now cast aside 
pretty effectually the cloak of respectability under 
which she had formerly masqueraded, Harry was as 
madly in love with her as ever, and was ready to 
abandon everything to his passion. 

If Cynthia was outwardly cool, Beatrice was not. 

With her face flushing hotly through its rouge, she 
was about to give vent to some stinging reply when, 
suddenly, Cynthia, who was facing the little door be- 
side the alcove, to which the others had their backs, 
turned deadly pale and staggered back a little with a 
faint cry of horror. 

Her face was set in firm, rigid lines, and a sick sen- 
sation of fear passed through her, as she recognized, 
standing in the door-way, beside Gridston, the hag- 
gard features of the man she had hoped never to see 
again — her wronged husband, Fretly Burnsides. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Harry, in alarm, 
leaping forward to her side. 

Cynthia’s hand sought her throat, as if to remove 
a clutch which seemed to be strangling her. 

“Nothing,” she said, with an effort, speaking in a 
hoarse, unnatural voice. “Leave me; see if the car- 
riage is here. Quickly! Go at once ! go at once !” 

“But, Cynthia,” protested Harry. 


118 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


The Panther wrested her eyes from the figure 
which had so alarmed her, and turned them wildly 
upon Harry. 

“Do what I tell you!” she exclaimed, with sup- 
pressed passion. “Don’t stand staring at me! Do 
what I ask you! Go!” 

Harry stood bewildered for a moment, and then, 
with a puzzled expression, obeyed. As he left the 
room, Gridston pointed after him, at the same time 
whispering a word or two in Burnsides’ ear. 

Beatrice gave Cynthia one long, curious look, and 
then, with a shrug of her white shoulders, returned 
to the ball-room. 

No sooner was Cynthia alone than the two men 
entered the room. 

Gridston went out on the veranda, where he stood, 
eagerly watching the scene, while Burnsides came 
slowly down to his wife’s side. 

The ex-convict was a man of perhaps forty, but 
prematurely aged. Plis face was haggard, and his eyes 
wild and staring. 

Cynthia, without moving, awaited his approach. 
She had now recovered from her first fright, and, 
with her usual courage, was prepared to await the 
development of events. 

Burnsides reached her side, and paused with his 
eyes upon her face. 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


119 


“You know me, I see,” lie said, at last, in a hol- 
low voice. 

“Yes, J know ‘you,” replied Cynthia, slowly; 
1 ‘ what do you want ?’ ’ 

“You !” reaching out his hand as if to draw her 
toward him. 

But, with a shudder, Cynthia shrank from him. 

“Don’t touch me !” 

“You forget I’m your husband!” returned Burn- 
sides. 

His voice was low, but there was a latent ferocity 
in it. 

“My husband !” ejaculated the Panther, between 
her set teeth. “Ugh ! I hate you ! Why didn’t you 
die in prison, as I hoped, I prayed, you would?” 

“Do you think such prayers as yours are ever an- 
swered? But, I’ll tell you why I didn’t die, why for 
five years I fought for life in the jail you sent me to. 
It was because, Heaven forgive me ! I love you still ! ’ ’ 

“You love me !” with a movement, part amaze- 
ment, part disgust. 

“Yes!” cried Burnsides, his excitement obtaining 
the mastery over him, and his voice rising above the 
music which rolled in from the ball-room. “You are 
mine ! And I want you again ! I will have you ! Do 
you hear? To be with me always, always! I’m mad, 
they say! Well, you shall share my madness!” 

“But you don’t know ” 


i 


120 


THE ASPASIA CLUB. 


“I know everything. The life you’re leading. The 
man you’ve led it with, the man who plotted with 
you to send me to prison, the man I saw. with you 
just now ! The man I am going to kill!' ,) 

In spite of herself, Cynthia uttered a shriek of hor- 
ror, a shriek which caused the musicians to drop their j 
instruments and the dancers to come hurrying in 
alarm to the door of the drawing-room. 

“No! no !’’ she screamed, frantically. “You are 
wrong! Listen to me! You must! You are wrong! 
wrong!” 

But Burnsides, with a terrible light in his blood- 
shot eyes, caught her by the wrist and twisted her 
about. 

“I’m right!” he cried, pointing to the door-way, 
where stood Harry Chichester, who had just pushed 
his way through the crowd, “and there he stands!” 

White with rage at the sight of- Cynthia in this 
stranger’s grasp, Harry strode forward with clinched 
fist. 

“L,et go that lady !” he cried. “L,et her go, I say ! 
Cynthia, what does the brute want?” 

Burnsides dropped his wife’s arm, and turned upon 
the young man with a snarl like a wild beast. 

“The brute wants his wife!” he yelled. 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


121 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE PANTHER AT BAY. 

The house occupied by Mrs. Dell in Highgate was 
a villa of moderate dimensions, but very handsome 
in all *its appointments, both inside and out. It stood 
in grounds of its own, which were surrounded by a 
high wall, with a gate of iron-work, heavily gilded. 

The place really belonged to Gridston, purchased 
with a part of his profits derived from the Aspasia 
Club, and he had offered it to Cynthia rent free, with 
the provision that he should reserve a small suite of 
rooms for his own occupancy. 

The Panther had accepted. She rarely refused gifts 
from her admirers, but she stipulated that no one 
should know of the transaction save the owner and 
herself. 

To this Gridston had readily assented. Cynthia 
' Dell had a way of holding the men who had once 

i 

! been her lovers, and Gridston was no exception to 
the rule. 

It was almost two o’clock in the morning, and in 
the perfumed air of the richly furnished drawing- 
room, a pretty French maid, lolling back in one of 


122 


THE PANTHEIl AT BAY. 


the chairs was yawning desperately, while a man in 
livery was standing in front of an open buffet, and 
helping himself to some of the liquor contained 
therein. 

“A very excellent drop of brandy, thj^, Rose,” he 
said, smacking his lips. 

“You had better be careful with it, Amos, ” warned 
the maid, “or Captain Gridston will notice your very 
frequent samplings. ” 

“Not a bit of it,” replied Amos, confidently, with 
a very expressive wink. “All the liquor that’s drank 
in this house is put down to the name of Mr. Henry 
Chichester.” 

“Yes,” acknowledged Rose, with a sigh. “Poor 
young fellow! His dream is nearly over.” 

“I don’t see why' he should be pitied,” replied 
Amos. “He’s had his fling, and of course he’s had to 
pay for it. ’ ’ 

The ormulu clock on the mantle-piece struck 
twice. 

“Two o’clock,” said Rose, wearily. “They won’t 
be home for an hour yet at least. Oh ! this life is 
killing me !” 

Amos closed the buffet, and came over toward her, 
with a look of longing upon his face. 

“Then why not quit it?” he asked, with a certain 
significance. “We’ve done very well here, one way 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


123 


or another. I’m sure we can afford to marry and be 
respectable. What do you say?” 

Now Rose was not a bad girl in her way. Through 
answering an advertisement, she had come into the 
employ of one of the gorgeously plumaged, but soiled 
doves that inhabit such villas as she was now in, and, 
after that, she had found it impossible to obtain em- 
ployment in more respectable families. 

“I’ll think it over, Amos,” she said, not liking to 
agree- at once, although her mind was fully made up. 

Amos was about to push the point, when a loud 
ringing at the bell brought him back to the duties 
for which he was paid. 

“That’s them!” he exclaimed, emphatically, 
though ungrammatically. “I’ll go and open the 
door. ’ ’ 

Rose started from her chair, and, rubbing her eyes, 
prepared to receive her mistress. It was unusual for 
them to be home as early as this. Why, she would be 
in bed before daylight for the first time since she had 
been there. 

In a few minutes her mistress, accompanied by 
Captain Gridston, entered the room. 

Cynthia, looking very pale and weary, flung off 
her gold-embroidered opera-cloak and sank down 
upon a divan. 

“Will madame change her dress?” asked Rose. 

“No,” replied Cynthia, passing her hand over her 


124 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


forehead, as if to drive away unpleasant thoughts. 
“No, Rose, I shall go to bed early for once. Good- 
night, Rose.” 

“Good-night, inadame, ” replied Rose, only too 
glad to escape. 

Cynthia was thankful to reach home at last, and 
well she might be. 

The scene which she had been compelled to under- 
go at the Aspasia Club had been a most trying one, 
to say the least. 

As Burnsides made the startling declaration he did, 
Harry Chichester started forward to fell him to the 
floor, but, before he could accomplish his purpose his 
arm was seized by those behind him. 

At the same time, Sheridan, the American, with 
one or two others, started forward and caught Burn- 
sides. 

Harry, very much against his will, was hurried 
away. 

In the midst of the commotion, Gridston came 
down from the balcony to Cynthia’s side. 

“Come away! Come away at once!” he whispered. 
“Now is your chance.” 

“But how about Harry?” 

“He’ll follow.” 

“And the other one?” 

“He must take his chance, but you must give him 
the slip. ’ ’ 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 125 

As he spoke, he drew her away, through the little 
door which led to the private exit. 

heaving her standing in the entry, he rushed back 
for her wrap, for the night was chilly, and then hailed 
a cab, which fortunately, or rather perhaps unfortu- 
nately for him, as it turned out, was standing in front 
of the door, and ordered the driver to go to Highgate 
Hill as if the devil was behind him. 

The cabman whipped up his horse, after another 
man, who had been hiding in the shadow, had 
jumped up beside him, and, as he drove away, he 
thought to himself, with a smile of triumph : 

“As if the devil was behind me! No! The devil is 
in front of me, and I’m driving him home!” 

In order not to keep the reader in useless suspense, 
perhaps it is just as well to say here that the cabman 
was Tom Chichester, who, believing that the people 
he was waiting for would, sooner or later, emerge 
from that private door, had made a bargain with Jim 
Palfrey. It was easy enough for him to fling the gi- 
gantic cabman’s overcoat over his own, and thus dis- 
guised to await the passengers who finally appeared, 
as he had felt confident they would. 

His one object was to discover the Panther’s ad- 
dress, knowing that there he would sooner or later 
find his brother. 

When they were safely in the drawing-room of the 
villa, Gridston looked at Cynthia, as she lay back ex- 


126 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


liausted, with a half-pitying expression, and then he 
turned to the buffet to pour himself out some 
brandy. 

Before he could raise the glass to his lips, however, 
a knock came at the door, followed by the entrance 
of his valet, Amos, who announced that the cabman 
who had driven them there insisted upon seeing Mrs. 
Dell. 

“What does he want?” demanded Gridston, in irri- 
tated surprise. 

“He wouldn’t give a message, sir,” replied Amos. 

“Then she won’t see him. Tell him to leave at 
once.” 

But before the valet could go to deliver this answer, 
he was pushed aside, and a man with a cabman’s coat 
turned up about his ears and a soft hat slouched over 
his face, pushed his way into the room, and thrusting 
the astonished valet out of the door, closed it behind 
him. * 

“What the deuce do you mean by this ?’ ’ vociferated 
Gridston. 

In reply, the man flung off the disguising hat and 
coat. 

“Chichester!” exclaimed Gridston, starting back, 
while Cynthia rose to her feet at the unexpected ap- 
parition. 

“Yes,” replied Tom, facing them both with deter- 
mined eyes and compressed lips. “You refused me 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


121 


this lady’s address. I told you I’d find you out. Well, 
I’ve kept my word.” 

“How the devil did you ” began Gridston. 

“Discover it?” interrupted Tom, with an ironical 
smile. “Why, from the devil himself.” 

“What?” 

“Oh, yes, you gave it to me, when I drove you 
home in the cab.” 

“You drove the cab!” repeated Gridston, too 
amazed to know exactly what course to take. 

“Certainly,” replied Tom, calmly, throwing a 
handful of change upon the table, “aud there’s the 
fare you paid me. ’ ’ 

There was a silence for a moment. The Panther 
leaned back in her chair, eying this bold intruder 
from under her half-closed lids, while Gridston stood 
irresolute, scarcely knowing how best to deal with 
him. 

“What do you want?” said the latter, at last. 

“A few words with this lady,” replied Tom, com- 
ing boldly forward. 

At this, Cynthia raised her head, gave Tom a scru- 
tinizing glance, and then motioned Gridston to re- 
tire. 

Hesitatingly and sulkily, the captain moved away 
to a corner of the room, where he was out of ear-shot, 
but still where he could see all that was going on. 

“What do you require of me?” asked Cynthia, 


128 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


when she was comparatively alone with Tom. At the 
same time she fixed her eyes upon him defiantly. 

“Where is Harry?” asked Tom, abruptly. 

Cynthia raised her eyebrows. 

“I thought so, ” she said, with a peculiar smile. 
“The same as before. Two years ago, you said you 
would take him from me, but you failed, you see.” 

“This time I hope to succeed,” retorted Tom, 
firmly. 

Cynthia leaned forward. 

“You mean to separate us?” 

“Yes, if possible. ” 

“You are wise to say if. For,” with a confidence 
which was in no way assumed, “it will never happen. 
We love each other.” 

Tom’s lip curled incredulously. 

“You love !” 

“Yes, I love!” she declared, feeling in her heart 
that she was not far from speaking the truth. “You 
think,” she went on, her nostrils dilating scornfully, 
“you think, I suppose, that a woman of my sort is 
incapable of such a thing. You are wrong ! I would 
give half of the life that is left to me to pass the rest 
away from all this wickedness.” 

Her words and manner impressed Tom in spite of 
himself, and he wondered if by any possibility she 
could be speaking the truth. 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


129 


As he thought this, it was in a much softer, in 
fact, almost in a sympathetic tone, that he said : 

“If what you say is true, there is a good spot still 
left in your heart. ’ ’ 

Cynthia sighed, and then laughed. 

“You are kind,” she said, with an attempt at 
irony, but despite herself, her voice faltered a little. 
Tom came forward, closer to her. 

“L,et me appeal to that goodness,” he said, with 
the utmost earnestness. “You say you love Harry. 
Then make a sacrifice for his sake, and save him from 
a terrible sin. ’ ’ 

“A sin!” 

“The sin of killing his father! For he is doing so 
by his desertion and reckless conduct. ’ ’ 

“Bah !” retorted the Panther, her softened mood 
passing. “His relations are nothing to me. ” 

“Then, let me plead for his own sake,” besought 
Tom, hoping even against hope, that he might touch 
the vulnerable part in her armor. “His career, as you 
know, is almost ruined. His one chance is to leave 
this country and start afresh. Will you give him this 
chance?” 

The Panther raised her great dark eyes, and looked 
at him keenly. Perhaps, just for that one moment, 
she was nearer forgetful of self, nearer doing a really 
generous act than she had ever been in her life. 

“Suppose, even if I promised,” she said, reflec- 


130 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


tivelv, “what then? He might insist on loving me 
still. Men do sometimes!” 

This last with an intonation partly regretful, partly 
proud. 

“Give me the opportunity to meet my brother. 
That is all I ask. ” 

It was absurd for Tom to feel so hopeful, for where 
is the man, even though he be a brother, that can 
hope to compete with a woman, however unworthy 
she may be? 

Pure motives go for nothing where passion comes 
in question. 

The Panther paused for a moment. Perhaps she 
was wavering, perhaps she was wondering how far 
she could fool this man who was attempting to save 
his brother from what he believed to be ruination.- 

“Yes,” she said, at last, as if coming to a resolu- 
tion, “yes, you shall meet him! You shall speak to 
him here before me. I will say nothing more. I will 
even urge him to leave me, to love me no more. If 
he consents,” and she could not repress a proud smile 
as, even while she was more or less sincere, the 
thought came to her that he would not consent, 
“well, it shall be good-by forever. But, if he refuses, 
as frankly I pray he will, I suppose we shall go to 
the bad, faster than before.” 

Tom was anything but hard-hearted, and, in spite 
of all that was at stake, he could not help being 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


131 


just a little touched. He sternly crushed back the 
feeling, however, and said, calmly : 

“When can I see him, and where ?” 

1 ‘ Here, of course. To-morrow evening. ’ ’ 

U I can rely on this?” 

“How suspicious you are! Can’t you trust me?” 

“I must,” responded Tom, sighing. “I cannot 
help myself. To-morrow evening, then, I shall be 
here to me£t Harry. If I don’t,” once more becoming 
suspicious and therefore threatening, “I shall be com- 
pelled to take other steps. ’ ’ 

He moved away toward the door, but, to his sur- 
prise, his departure was barred by Captain Gridston, 
who had not lost sight of him throughout the inter- 
view, and who thought the time had now come to 
interfere. 

“And what are the other steps, pray?” he asked, 
with an ugly scowl. 

“That is my business,” replied Tom, curtly. 

“And mine! What you say implies a threat toward 
this lady. I’ll not allow it!” 

Tom’s face grew dark. This was a different matter 
entirely. This was no longer man against woman, 
but man against man ; and he certainly had no desire 
to show either courtesy or compassion to Captain 
Gridston. 

“I can take care of myself,” he said, drawing him- 
self up and looking the other full in the face. 


132 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


“I’ll not permit you to come here again !” ex- 
claimed Gridston, losing liis temper. 

Tom was angry, too, but he kept himself well un- 
der control. 

“Mr. Gridston,” with an accent upon the Mr., 
“before I came into this house, F made up my mind 
I would not exchange words with you, if possible. I 
beg of you to let me go without doing so. Believe 
me, it will be better for you. ” 

“Do you think I’m a coward?” snapped Gridston. 

“I know you’re a rogue,” replied Tom, very 
quietly, “and they generally go together.” 

Gridston turned scarlet with rage, and made a rush 
at the man who had thus insulted him. But, like a 
flash, Tom, who had been expecting something of 
the sort, caught him by the coat, and, thrusting 
him away, held him at arm’s length. 

“Keep still, or I’ll thrash you now!” he cried. 

Just behind them, fixed against the wall, was a 
round wooden shield, decorated with arms of various 
kinds. Gridston, who was wild with rage, reached 
out his hand and wrenched away a pistol. 

“Take care!” he shouted, presenting the weapon. 

‘ ‘ Get me go ! ” 

Tom involuntarily released him. Then, remember- 
ing that he had in his pocket the pistol he had taken 
from his father, he produced it. 

“I’m armed, too!” he said, quietly. 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


133 


But before either could make another movement, 
the Panther had rushed between them. 

“Are you both mad?” she cried. Then she turned 
toward Gridston and took the pistol from him, at the 
same time whispering: “Fool, this isn’t loaded!” 

Tom, lowering his own weapon, stepped back. 

“Mr. Chichester, our interview, I think, is fin- 
ished,” said Cynthia, coldly. “Rest assured, I will 
keep my promise. Good -night. ” 

“Good-night. ” 

Tom turned away to pick up the cabman’s coat he 
had borrowed from Palfrey, and, as he did so, he laid 
his pistol down upon the table for a moment. 

The Panther saw her opportunity. Darting noise- 
lessly forward, she deftly exchanged the weapon for 
the useless one Gridston had snatched from the shield. 

It was so rapidly done that Tom noticed nothing. 
He returned to the table, and, picking up the pistol, 
dropped it into his pocket. 

“I’ll make you repent this, Chichester!” hissed 
Gridston, who was still boiling with anger. 

“I’ll take my chances,” replied Tom, carelessly. 

He walked over to the door, and then, suddenly 
remembering something Fletcher had told him while 
they were on their way to the Aspasia Club, he 
paused upon the threshold. 

“One word before I leave, Mr. Gridston,” he said, 
turning. “It has come to my ears that for some time 


134 : 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


you have been paying unwelcome attentions to a 
young lady whose* name I don’t think it necessary to 
mention. I must ask you to discontinue these atten- 
tions at once and forever. ’ ’ 

“Are you speaking at the lady’s request?” asked 
Gridston, sneeringly. 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t believe you. Miss Millar is not likely to 
choose a criminal for her champion. ’ ’ 

Tom bit his lip, with difficulty restraining his 
anger. 

After a moment, he said, speaking very distinctly 
and firmly: 

“The lady you mention is going to be my wife! 
Now, do you understand? Good-night!” 

And, wheeling about, he left the room. 

Girdston started forward to follow him, but Cynthia 
caught him by the arm and detained him. 

“You are ridiculous. I^eave him to me. I shall re- 
pay with interest. Be sure of that!” 

Gridston hesitated a moment, and then yielded. 

“There’s one good thing about it,” he said, sulk- 
ily. “If you keep your word, I shall see the back of 
Harry at last. ’ ’ 

“No!” cried Cynthia, involuntarily. 

“Oh, come, Cynthia, be sensible for once!” said 
Gridston, half impatiently, half persuasively. “What’s 
the use of keeping the young fool dangling at your 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


135 


feet any longer? He hasn’t a cent in the world. 
Let him drift as others have done, as others do, to 
ruin. ’ ’ 

There was no mincing of matters between this pre- 
cious pair, and Cynthia’s answer was equally as 
frank. 

“I must think it over. I love him. The question 
is this : Is my love strong enough to spare, to save 
him?” 

At that moment the bell of the outer door rang 
with a quick, sudden peal. 

“That’s Harry, I expect,” said Gridston. 

“I think so. Leave me.” 

“You’ll finish with him to-night?” 

‘ ‘ Perhaps, ’ ’ was the evasive answer. 

“Take my advice and do. I’ll see you again, when 
he’s gone. Be firm.” 

Picking up his hat and coat, Gridston went out at 
one door as Amos entered at the other. 

“A gentleman wishes to see you, ma’am,” said the 
servant. 

“Who is he?” asked Cynthia, in some surprise. 

“A stranger, ma’am.” 

“I can see no one at this hour. Tell him to call to- 
morrow. ’ ’ 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Left alone, Cynthia sank down in an arm-chair be- 


136 THE PANTHER AT BAY. 

fore the fire, and, shading her face with her hand, 

gave herself up to reflection. 

Yes, it was best that she and Harry should part. 
In fact, it must be done. It was not that she had the 
slightest fear of anything Tom Chichester might do, 
but on account of the other — her husband. She knew 
that he was desperate, and that Harry was in real 
danger at his hands. Oh, why did the prison give 
him up? Why didn’t he die, or stay there forever?” 

A noise at the window startled her, and she turned 
in affright. 

A man had climbed up the balcony, and was stand- 
ing just outside the window. 

Before Cynthia could call for aid, he had sprung 
forward and was by her side. With a spasm of fear, 
slie recognized the white face and frenzied eyes of her 
legal lord and master. 

“You!” she gasped. 

“Yes,” returned Burnsides, in a hollow voice, his 
wild gaze fixed gloatingly upon her beautiful face. 
“After you left, they threw me into the streets like a 
dog, and like a dog, I followed you. ’ ’ 

Cynthia had risen to her feet, and was standing 
with one hand grasping the back of the chair. Her 
mind was in a tumult, and what to do she scarcely 
knew. But at all costs, he must be got rid of. Harry 
might be there at any moment. 

“I left a message for you,” she said. 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


137 


“Yes, before throwing me out, one of the flunkeys 
gave it to me, telling me to come here to-morrow. ” 

“Why are you here now, then?” 

‘ ( Because with me it has been to-morrow for five 
long years,” was the passionate answer. “I could not 
rest away from you. ’ ’ 

He came a step closer to her, in his eyes a glitter 
almost like insanity. 

“But you can’t stay here,” faltered Cynthia, una- 
ble to control the terrible fear she felt creeping over 
her. 

“Why not?” fiercely. “Ah! Don’tanswer! Iknow 
why not. Your lover is in the house.” 

“No! no!” cried Cynthia, quickly. “I swear it!” 

“But he’s coming here! You expect him! Tell me 
the truth !” 

With a loud cry, she made a rush for the door, but, 
anticipating some such movement, Burnsides was too 
quick for her. He leaped in front and locked the 
door. 

“Help!” screamed Cynthia. 

Burnsides, with an oath, caught her and dragged 
her back into the middle of the room. 

“Stop that!” he commanded, threateningly. “I 
understand. You want to bring the police. But I’ll 
not go back to prison! I’ll die first ! And so shall 
you, unless, unless ” 

“What!” she panted, struggling to free herself. 


138 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


“Tell me quickly. You are hurting me! L,et me 
go!” 

But the man, who was not much better than 
insane, driven so by his wrongs, only tightened his 
hold. 

“I’ll spare you and him on one condition,” he 
said, between his teeth, bringing his face close to 
hers. 

“What is it?” 

“Come back to me ! Be my wife again !” 

“Never!” 

This answer robbed him of what little brains he 
had left. All went from him save one thought — re- 
venge. 

He caught the woman by the throat in a fierce 
grasp, but not before she had uttered another piercing 
shriek. 

She struggled wildly, but the Panther’s life would 
probably have ended then and there had not Gridston 
heard her cry for help and come to her rescue. 

Finding the door locked, he put his shoulder to it 
and burst it open. 

Then, as he saw what was taking place, he 
snatched up a chair, raised it high in the air, and 
brought it down with full force upon the head of 
Cynthia’s assailant. 

The deadly clutch of the fingers relaxed, and, with 


139 


THE PANTHER’ AT~ BAY. 

a groan, Burnsides fell forward, senseless, upon his 
face. 

White and exhausted, the Panther reeled back 
against the table. 

“Who is it?” asked Gridston, in a whisper. 

Unable to speak, Cynthia motioned to him to look 
for himself. 

Gridston advanced to the side of the unconscious 
body, knelt down, and turned it over. 

“Burnsides !” 

Cynthia, still gasping, leaned forward, with a look 
of savage longing upon her pale face. 

“Is — is he dead?” she asked, with difficulty. 

“I think not,” replied Gridston. “Wait!” 

And once again he leaned over the body. 

“Well?” 

“Not dead! He still breathes!” 

The Panther struck her hands together in bitter 
disappointment. 

“What shall we do?” 

“We’ve nothing to fear,” replied Gridston, rising. 
“He came like a thief. Better send for the police at 
once. ’ ’ 

As he spoke, he moved away to touch the electric 
bell. 

But Cynthia sprang forward and caught his ex- 
tended hand. 


140 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


“No !” she murmured, bending upon him a look 
charged with significance. “He is not dead — yet!" 

Gridston returned her look, and, hardened though 
he was, he shuddered at what he read in those sav- 
age, gleaming eyes. 

“My God! I understand. ” 

The Panther smiled, a horrible smile. 

“You understand ?” 

“Yes,” faltered Gridston, trembling in spite of 
himself, “and if — and if ” 

“If you ” She did not finish her sentence, but 

pointed toward the prostrate form of Burnsides with 
a gesture that was far more expressive than any 
words. “Why, then, I’ll give up Harry Chichester, 
and ” 

She held out her hand to Gridston, and he caught 
it with a cry. 

“You swear it?” 

“I swear it!” 

“I’ll do it!” 

He dropped her hand, wiped the perspiration from 
his brow, gave a glance at Burnsides’ body, and then 
turned to the shield upon which the various weapons 
were arranged. 

But, before he could detach one of them, through 
the window which Burnsides had left open came 
faintly, yet distinctly, the words : 

“All right, sir, I understand. Good-night.” 


THE PANTHER AT BAY. 


141 


And then the response, in a voice which both of 
them recognized as that of Tom Chichester: 

“Good-night, constable!” 

The Panther raised her hand in warning. 

“Hush!” 

Gridston, abandoning his search for a weapon, 
crept over to the window, and from behind the shel- 
ter of the curtains peered out upon the moon-lit 
grounds. 

“The patrol,” he whispered, “and Chichester are 
w r atching in the gardens. ’ * 

Cynthia thought for a moment, and then a scheme 
of action occurring to her, said : 

“Bring him to my room!” 

“Your room!” repeated Gridston. 

“Yes,” defiantly. “Why not? I am his wife.” 

She advanced close to him, and added, grimly : 

“When shall I be his widow?” 


142 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A SHOT IN THE DARK. 

When Tom Chichester first left the Panther’s pres- 
ence, he was inclined to think that she was sincere, 
and that, through her very evident love for his 
brother, perhaps her better nature was aroused, and 
she would really try to save him. 

But gradually this impression faded, and he be- 
came more and more anxious. 

Finally he decided to return, and to see Harry if 
he could. He felt pretty certain, after what had oc- 
curred, that his brother would be there that night, 
and he thought possibly his appeal might tell. After 
all, blood was blood ; but there, Tom, judging from 
his own feelings, made a mistake. He forgot the 
enormous influence that can be wielded by a woman, 
and especially a woman of the Panther’s class. What 
is a brother in comparison with such a fascination, 
even though the victim while he yields to it, may be 
quite aware of how meretricious it is ? 

So Tom came back to wait. Perhaps he was 
wrong, as he thought to himself, but he could not 
trust that woman. 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 143 

He entered the grounds of the villa, leaving Jim 
Palfrey outside to warn him of anybody’s approach. 

As he waited there the sergeant of police passed up 
the street, and Tom called to him, feeling instinc- 
tively that he might need some assistance. 

The conversation that ensued was what was heard 
by the Panther and Gridston in the drawing-room 
above, and prevented, at least temporarily, the crime 
they were contemplating. 

Tom had not long to wait after that before Palfrey 
came hurrying through the ornate gates, with the 
announcement that a cab was coming. 

“Perhaps it’s the gent you’re waiting for, sir.” 

And so it proved. In another instant the cab 
stopped before the gate, and a voice, which Tom, 
with a thrill at his heart, recognized at once, was 
heard saying : 

- “It’s all right. You can keep the change.” 

“It’s Harry, ” thought Tom. “Oh, Heaven help 
me with him !” 

As he thought this he came forward to meet the 
brother whom he loved so well, but yet, through that 
very love, he was a little afraid of. 

“Who the devil are you?” exclaimed Harry, not 
recognizing him at first. 

“Harry, old man, how are you?” exclaimed Tom, 
tremulously, extending his hand. 

Then Harry recognized him as the moonlight fell 


144 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


full upon his face, but, with the obstinacy which was 
his weakness, he refused to give any outward exhibi- 
tion of his real emotion. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sullenly, 
rigidly repressing all that he actually felt at meeting 
his brother after so long an interval of time. 

Tom was hurt at the cold reception with which he 
was greeted, but still he answered, affectionately : 

“Harry, old chap, I’ve come from our father.” 

“Our father!” repeated Harry, startled. 

“Yes, our father. Harry, he has forgiven.” 

“Forgiven!” repeated the young man, who was 
really more sinned against than sinning. 

“It will never be mentioned again,” said Tom, his 
heart going out to the younger son of his mother. 
“Harry, the old man’s heart is still bleeding from 
the wound you opened, and only you can stop it. 
Come home to him and save his life.” 

As he made this impassioned appeal, unseen either 
by him or his brother, there appeared on the balcony, 
just over their heads, the woman who had caused all 
the trouble, accompanied by the man who had been 
her first tempter to wrong-doing. 

The unconscious form of Burnsides had been safely 
deposited in the Panther’s chamber, with the key 
turned upon him, and then, attracted by the sound 
of voices, the two had cautiously emerged upon the 
balcony. 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


145 


“I’m sorry, very sorry,” said Harry, moved in 
spite of himself, and yet determined not to yield. 
“So sorry for the governor, but I can’t come home.” 

“You can’t come home!” exclaimed Tom, losing 
his patience. 

It meant so much to him, and he was so confident 
that he saw infinitely clearer than his brother did, 
and yet he knew that nothing that he could say 
would open Harry’s eyes. Nevertheless he must 
make the effort. 

“Where in Heaven’s name is your manhood?” he 
continued, appealingly. “You must come home. 
You shall ! For once in your life let your better 
nature rule you. It’s not yourself that answers me. 
It’s not your father’s son, your mother’s child who 
speaks.” Tom’s voice grew low and tremulous, and 
then, with sudden transition, as he remembered who 
had caused all this trouble, it rang out in almost de- 
nunciation: “No, it is this woman who governs 
you, this woman who is killing you and turning you 
. into a parricide!” 

“What?” cried Harry, angrily. 

“I repeat it!” said Tom, doggedly, feeling all the 
time that he was making a mistake, and yet not 
knowing how to rectify it without being false to 
himself. 

By the way, it is generally the tactful, not the 
truthful, who conquer in this world. 


146 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


“Yes,” continued Tom, “it is your neglect, your 
wickedness — for that’s the true word for it — which 
means our father’s death. The whole terrible cause 
of it all is this woman you love, you cling to, and 
believe in !” 

“And always shall!” announced Harry, obsti- 
nately. 

As he spoke these words, the two figures on the 
balcony above came close to the edge and leaned 
forward breathlessly. These two figures, if they had 
been discovered at that moment by the brothers, 
might have made a great change in what followed. 

As it was, neither saw Cynthia and Gridston. 

When Harry made this last statement, Tom, re- 
volted at what he considered almost criminal obsti- 
nacy, lost his temper. 

“Take care, Harry, take care!” he exclaimed, in a 
voice that was distinctly audible to those upon the 
balcony above. “I once took your sin upon my 
shoulders, and would again if it would avail you any- 
thing, but if you hesitate now, I shall not. You 
crave for the heart of a woman. I fight for the life 
of a man — our father’s life. Throw them in the bal- 
ance for a moment ; in one scale the happiness of 
him to whom we both owe our existence, in the 
other a worthless passion that will carry you to ruin. 
Now which is it to be? Your father, or your mis- 
tress?” 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


147 


At this, which was certainly plain speaking, the 
Panther’s breast was filled with a mad, unreasoning 
rage. With a sudden wild impulse she thrust the 
pistol she had taken from Tom, and which she had 
hidden in the bosom of her dress, into Gridston’s 
hand. 

“If you have a spark of courage,” she said, in a 
furious whisper, “rid us of that man.” 

Gridston mechanically took the weapon. 

“I’m waiting, ” came Tom’s voice from below, 
after a pause. “Will you come home?” 

“No! no! no!” retorted his brother, defiantly, all 
his obstinacy, which was his dominating fault, rising 
in its full strength. “This lady you malign I’d make 
my wife to-morrow if she’d marry me. She’s as good 

and better than many others. Even that Aileen, who 
) > 

But he was destined never to finish the sentence. 
Stung beyond all endurance, Tom advanced upon 
him threateningly. 

“Recall those words,” he thundered, “or ” 

Without warning, Harry raised the walking-stick 
he carried and struck at his brother. 

At the same moment Gridston leveled the pistol 
and fired. Then, without waiting to see the result of 
his shot, he flung the weapon over the balcony, and, 
accompanied by Cynthia, disappeared within the 
house. 


148 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


Harry staggered, threw up his arms, and fell pros- 
trate. 

All his anger vanishing as if by magic, Tom ut- 
tered a cry of horror and threw himself down upon 
his knees by his brother’s side. 

“Harry! what is it?” he cried, in anguish. 
“You’re hurt.” 

As he spoke he attempted to raise the young man, 
and saw in the moonlight that he was white as death 
and the blood was oozing from a wound in his side. 

“Help! help!” he shrieked. 

In response to his call Jim Palfrey, who had re- 
mained outside with the cab, came rushing through 
the gate. 

“I heard a shot, sir! What’s the matter?” 

“Something terrible,” responded Tom, raising a 
face convulsed with agony. “Arouse the house, Jim! 
My brother is wounded.” 

“Wounded!” 

“Yes, shot! Drive for the doctor, and bring the 
police !” 

Shocked as he was, Palfrey fortunately did not 
lose his presence of mind. 

He ran to the door and pulled the bell and then 
flew away to summon the physician, remembering, 
fortunately, that there was one at the corner of the 
street. 

Tom raised Harry in his arms. 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


149 


“My poor brother!” he sobbed, the tears rolling 
down his cheeks. 

The door of the house opened, and Mrs. Dell and 
Gridston came hurriedly down the steps into the 
court-yard. 

Tom’s back was toward them, however, and he 
was too absorbed in his concern for his brother to 
notice their approach. 

The Panther mistook the kneeling figure for her 
lover. 

“Harry,” she muttered, hoarsely, laying her hand 
upon his shoulder, as she supposed, “come away 

quickly into the house, before the police You 

may be suspected ! Come !” 

Tom turned his head and looked up into her face. 
As she recognized him she staggered and uttered a 
horrible shriek. 

“You! Then ” 

She gave one glance at the body Tom was support- 
ing. 

“Oh, my God!” she screamed, as the truth was 
forced in upon her ; and she fell upon her knees, by 
Harry’s side. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Gridston, trying to 
speak naturally. “Has your brother been hurt?” 

Before Tom could answer two policemen, alarmed 
by the shot, and also hurried on by Palfrey, who had 
met them, came running through the gate. 


150 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


“What’s wrong, gentlemen?” asked the foremost, 
taking in the scene at a glance. “Quick, explain!” 

“This house is mine,” said Gridston, feeling that 
boldness was the card to play now. “I heard a shot 
and cries for help. I came out and found that gentle- 
man lying upon the ground and this one,” pointing 
to Tom, “standing over him. ” 

“What have you to say to this?” asked the police- 
man, turning to Tom, who rose slowly to his feet. 

“I don’t understand,” he replied, slowly, trying 
to collect his bewildered senses. “I came here to- 
night on business with Captain Gridston. As I was 
leaving, I — I met my brother. I tried to prevent him 
entering the house. He attempted to strike me. We 
struggled, and then I heard a shot.” 

The policeman looked incredulous. It was not a 
very probable story, to say the least. Suddenly his 
eye fell upon something lying in the walk, something 
that glittered in the moonlight. 

He stooped and picked up the pistol Gridston had 
thrown there. 

. “The shot was fired by this, I suppose?” he said. 

Tom started in amazement. 

For a moment there was silence, broken only by 
the moans of Cynthia, who was still bending over 
Harry. 

Then Gridston spoke. 

“Why,” he said, with an admirable simulation of 


A SHOT IN THE DARK. 


151 


astonishment, “that is the pistol you threatened me 
with in the house just now. ” 

Tom’s hand sought his pocket. 

“No!” he cried, producing the one which was 
there, the one the Panther had substituted for his. 
“Here is mine. ” 

“You might have had two pistols,” said the 
policeman, whose mind was already pretty well made 
up. “Anyhow, it’s very suspicious.” 

“It’s more than that, I’m afraid,” declared Grid- 
ston. “They were never friendly, as every one 
knows. They met, there must have been a quarrel, 
and — and a murder!” 

“You liar!” cried Tom, in a choking voice,' 
making a movement toward the man who thus dared 
to accuse him. 

But, springing forward, the policeman stepped be- 
tween. 

Before any one could speak again there was a 
thrilling cry from Cynthia. 

“Ah ! he is not dead ! See ! see ! he is opening his 
eyes !” 

Forgetful of all else now save his brother, Tom 
turned and knelt again beside him. 

Harry’s fast glazing eyes sought his face. 

“Harry, dear Harry, look at me! You know me, 
do you not?” 

There was a faint murmur of assent. 


152 


A SHOT IN THE DAKK. 


“Harry, you’ve been shot, and I’m accused of it. 
We have disagreed at times, but we have always 
loved each other. By that love and for all our sakes, 
I beg and implore you to speak the truth. Am I 
guilty?” 

The dying man, with a last effort, raised his head. 

“No!” he cried, in a voice distinctly audible to all 
present. 

Then, with a gurgling, choking sound in his 
throat, he fell back. 

When Palfrey, a moment after, arrived with the 
physician it was too late. 

Harry Chichester’s soul had passed to its Maker. 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 


153 


CHAPTER X. 

AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 

“Hist, Becky!” 

Becky Vetch started and paused in her occupation 
of dusting the front parlor. 

Then, as she saw who it was that was standing in 
the open door- way which led into the hall, she 
shrugged her shoulders and exclaimed, with a saucy 
toss of her head : 

“Oh, is it you, Jim Palfrey?” 

Those were anything but easy days for Becky. 
She had to work hard, early and late, but still she 
managed to keep bright and merry, and now that the 
sick gentleman was convalescing, her sweet voice 
was constantly uplifted in the snatches of the old 
ballads she loved so well. 

It was nearly two months now since the news had 
been brought to his family waiting in that very 
house of the shocking death of young Harry Chi- 
chester. 

Upon hearing the terrible tidings old Mr. Chi- 
chester had fallen unconscious, and for many days 
hovered between life and death. The doctor had for- 


154 AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP, 

bidden his removal, and there was nothing to be done 
save to make him as comfortable as possible where he 
was. Mrs. Vetch and her niece, good, kind-hearted 
creatures that they were, came nobly to the rescue. 
The back parlor was given up to the invalid as a bed- 
room, and a folding bed was put up in the front 
parlor for Aileen and Gracie, so that they might be 
near him. Tom, too, remained in his old room and 
was assiduous in his attentions to his father. 

In the midst of their grief and anxiety it was a 
trying time for them all. Mr. Chichester, however, 
was finally pronounced out of danger He had been 
sitting up now for several days, and it had been de- 
cided to return home to the house in Raymond street 
very shortly. 

“How is the old gentleman to-day ?” asked Jim, 
tiptoeing into the room and casting a cautious 
glance at the closed folding-doors between the par- 
lors. 

“Much better,” replied Becky, in a subdued voice. 
“Miss Aileen and Miss Gracie are with him.” 

Suddenly Jim started, and creeping over to the 
window, peered out from behind the curtains, to 
Becky’s open-mouthed astonishment. 

But before she could speak a word, he turned, his 
red face redder than ever, and said, in an excited 
whiper : 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 155 

“Yes, I’m sure I’m right. I knew I was, Becky. 
This place is being watched. ’ ’ 

“You don’t say so!” returned Becky, in dismay. 

“Yes, I do. And it’s been going on ever since the 
inquest. ’ ’ 

“But why, Jim?” 

Palfrey hesitated a moment, and then answered, 
with an ominous shake of the head : 

“Well, Becky, you know the jury’s verdict was 
willful murder against an unknown party.” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m afraid some of ’em think they knows who 
the unknown party is and where he lives. ’ ’ 

“You don’t mean to say they suspect some one in 
this house?” cried -Becky, thoroughly alarmed. 

“I’m afraid so, Becky.” 

“Who can it be?” Then, as she realized what 
Jim meant, she thrust out her hands as if warding off 
the horrible thought. “No! Oh, no! They couldn’t !” 

“I’m afraid they do,” replied Palfrey, sorrowfully. 
“Poor Mr. Tom. ” 

Becky made a gesture toward the folding-door, 
and then came close to Jim, so that they could speak 
low enough to avoid any chance of being overheard 
by those in the next room. 

“But his brother said he was innocent before he 
died, Jim,” she said. 

Again Palfrey shook his head mournfully. 


156 AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TEAR 

“But the coroner said the dying gentleman’s state- 
ment was not of much value under the circumstances, 
and, when the jury gave the verdict they did, I never 
saw any one in such a rage. And Becky,” drawing 
a newspaper from the capacious pocket of his top- 
coat, “listen to what they say in to-night’s paper: 
‘Inspector Clarkson has applied for a warrant against 
one of the parties in the Highgate murder case, 
which, we believe, has been granted.’ ” 

“Oh-h-h!” groaned Becky. “If ” 

But she was interrupted by a ring at the door-bell. 

“Oh ! gracious!” hurriedly rolling down her sleeves 
and smoothing her rumpled hair. “Run away, Jim, 
quick!” 

Jim obeyed and hurried down the stairs to the 
regions below. 

Becky opened the door, to find standing upon the 
steps Mr. Fletcher, who had been a frequent visitor 
at this house since he was first driven there by Pal- 
frey some two months before. 

There was a worried look upon Gillie’s honest face 
as he entered the hall. 

“Where’s Mr. Tom, Becky?” he asked, anxiously. 

“He went out with the doctor, sir.” 

“Did he say when he’d return?” 

“No, sir. There was a letter for him, brought by 
a special messenger, which may have something to 
do with it.” 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 157 

Gillie looked more and more troubled, but before 
he could ask further questions, the door of the back 
parlor which led into the hall opened, and Gracie 
Chichester^appeared. 

As soon as she caught sight of Fletcher she closed 
the door softly behind her and came hurrying for- 
ward to greet him. 

Becky slipped away, leaving the two alone to- 
gether. 

Gracie was dressed in deep mourning, and her eyes 
were red as if she had been weeping. 

“I thought I heard you, Mr. Fletcher,” she said. 
“I am so troubled about Tom. He’s received a note 
to go to Scotland Yard on business connected with 

n 

Her voice died away in a sob. 

“Yes, yes, I know what you mean. Don’t worry,” 
said Gillie, consolingly. “There’s a dear, good girl.” 

As he spoke he took her hand and led her into the 
front parlor. 

Gracie sank down upon a sofa, and Gillie seated 
himself at her side. 

“You’ve been very kind all through our trouble,” 
she said, looking at him gratefully. 

Gillie flushed with pleasure. 

“Don’t mention it. But I’m glad you think so, 
awfully glad. ” 

“I do, indeed. ” 


158 AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 

Gillie edged a little closer to her. 

“Hem!” he began, nervously. “Then — then some 
day, when all the troubles are over, and the sorrow 
softened down a bit, perhaps I’ll be rewarded.” 

Gracie cast down her eyes and the color deepened 
in her cheek. 

“You deserve to be,” she said, softly. 

“But one so seldom gets what one deserves, while 
one can enjoy what one deserves,” observed Gillie, a 
little incoherently. “You — you generally have the 
beef and pudding brought you after you have pegged 
out for the want of bread and cheese. ’ ’ 

“I hope that won’t be your case.” 

Gillie, feeling decidedly encouraged, again moved 
closer. 

“It depends upon you,” he declared, with a bold- 
ness which surprised himself. 

“Upon me!” repeated Gracie, in a tone of surprise 
which we fear was not entirely genuine. 

“Yes, do you remember in the dear old days that 
party on the roof-garden ?’ ’ 

“Indeed I do. ” 

‘ ‘ Have you forgotten what I told you about falling 
down, down, down?” 

“And you wanted some one to catch you?” 

“Exactly, and I’ve been falling ever since, only 
ever so much faster ; and the deeper I go, the more I 
long for the some one to catch me. ’ ’ 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TKAP. 159 

“Poor fellow! How dizzy you must be!” 

They were very close together indeed now, and 
both had forgotten their recent anxiety. 

“Dizzy!” murmured Gillie, eagerly. “I’m in a 
perfect whirl. My head keeps going round and 
round, and I’m sure I shall fall, if — if you don’t stop 
me. Will you, Grade?” 

“Oh, Gillie!” 

And then ! Well, then he kissed her, and she let 
him. 

“At last!” he murmured, ecstatically. 

But in that blissful moment the sound of the open- 
ing of the folding-doors reached their ears. 

They started apart, each to the very end of the 
sofa. 

But they were just a little too late. 

Aileen, for it was she who had entered, had seen 
enough to understand what had happened. 

She softly closed the door, and then, coming for- 
ward a little, said, in her low, sweet voice : 

‘ ‘ Come here, both of you. ’ ’ 

They obeyed, Gracie blushing furiously and Gillie 
as red as a turkey cock’s comb. 

Aileen looked from one to the other, and then, 
with a smile, took a hand of each. 

“Is it?” she said, interrogatively. 

Gracie inclined her head, and Gillie nodded vigor- 
ously. 


160 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TEAP. 


“I’m so glad!” And Aileen kissed her cousin 
warmly ; then turning to Gillie, who was beaming 
with happiness, she added, cordially: “You deserve 
a good wife. ” 

“Well, I hope not,” was the sudden, unexpected 
response. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you see,” laughed Gillie, “if I don’t de- 
serve a good wife, it’s long odds I get one, don’t you 
know?” 

Aileen laughed outright herself at this absurdity. 

“Oh, Aileen, dear, I’m so glad to hear you laugh 
again!” exclaimed Gracie. “And yet,” remorsefully,. 
“I suppose it’s wrong to be happy just now.” 

“Not at all,” replied Aileen, becoming suddenly 
grave. “We must welcome the sunshine whenever 
it comes.” And then she sighed. “It’s scarce 
enough. ’ ’ 

“I’ll go and sit with father,” remarked Gracie, 
noticing how pale and weary her cousin looked. 
“I’m sure you need rest.” 

“No, dear. He’s asleep.” 

“Shall I stay with Mr. Chichester for an hour or 
two?” suggested Gillie, feeling it to be his duty, but 
speaking in a half-hearted way, for he was longing 
to be alone with the girl he had at last won for his 
own. “That is, if I can be of any use, you 
know. ’ * 


AILEEN FALLS INTO A TRAP. I6i 

Aileen smiled faintly. She guessed what was pass- 
ing in his mind. 

“Yes, I think you can be of use,” she answered. 

I’m so glad,” said Gillie, in the most dismal tone 
imaginable. “What can I do?” 

“Take Grade out for a walk and bring the roses 
back to her cheeks. ’ ’ 

Fletcher’s face cleared as if by magic. 

“What a brick you are!” he exclaimed, admiring- 
ly, as Gracie ran to put on her hat. 

After they were gone Aileen sank wearily down in 
a chair, and covering her eyes with her hand, aban- 
doned herself to the gloomy thoughts and forebodings 
which were oppressing her. 

She had said, “Welcome the sunshine. ” But what 
could scatter the shadow, the terrible shadow which 
she felt was descending upon them all ? 

Harry’s death had been bad enough, but this was 
worse, far worse. Suspicion pointed to Tom, her 
Tom ! She felt it, she knew it ! It was terrible. It 
was like living over a volcano. She was beginning 
to dread every footstep. Every ring at the door made 
her heart stand still with fear. 

But no, it was wrong, it was wicked to think of 
such a thing. Harry with his dying breath had de- 
clared Tom innocent. That was surely enough. No 
one could believe him guilty. No! no! It was im- 
possible ! Impossible ! 


162 A1LEEN FALLS INTO THE TEAP. 

A low knock aroused her from her reflections, and 
she started to her feet, all her apprehensions again 
awakened. 

“Come in!” she called, in a trembling voice. 

The door opened, and there appeared upon the 
threshold a man whose face seemed familiar to her, 
but whom at the moment she could not place. 

“The old lady down stairs said here, ” observed 
the intruder, “so I came up. How do you do, Miss 
Millar? You don’t seem to remember me. My 
name’s Treacher — Edward Treacher, attorney at 
law. ’ ’ 

Then it flashed upon Aileen where she had seen 
him before, that night at Harry’s birthday party. 

“Yes, I remember you now, Mr. Treacher,” she 
said, coldly. 

“I beg pardon. I made a mistake. I expected to 
see Mr. Chichester, Jr. — Mr. Tom, you know. I had 
business with him, very important business. But I 
can’t wait. Good-day.” 

Important business ! Aileen at once wondered if it 
could have anything to do with what had been 
troubling her so deeply, and she determined to make 
an effort to detain the lawyer until Tom’s return. 

“One moment,” she said, quickly. “He will be 
back shortly. And besides, I would like to ask you 
something. ” 

Treacher consulted his watch. 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TKAP. 163 

“Um!” he said, hesitatingly. “Well, I can give 
you five minutes, but no more. I have an important 
appointment, and I can’t break it.” 

“Tell me,” said Aileen, feeling more than ever 
that this visit meant something serious. “Is — is this 
business connected with — with ” 

She paused, not knowing how to finish. But 
Treacher understood. 

“Ye-es,” he said, slowly. “Very sad! Very sad 
indeed! Two brothers, too.” 

“But he didn’t do it!” exclaimed Aileen, indig- 
nantly. 

A peculiar smile played about the lawyer’s thin 
lips, and he fixed his little eyes scrutinizingly upon 
the girl’s flushed face. 

“Who? I didn’t know any one had been accused, 
at least not yet. But maybe some one will be soon, 
unless — unless ’ ’ 

“Unless what?” demanded Aileen, impatiently, 
feeling confident now that her fears had not been 
misplaced. “Speak out! Tell me what you can!” 

Treacher’s hesitation vanished. He saw that the 
time had come for a display of apparent frankness. 

He advanced toward Aileen and spoke more 
quickly than was his wont. 

“Every moment suspicions and facts are becoming 
stronger against Tom Chichester. You know for 


164 AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 

what. There’s only one link missing, and they may 

find it.” 

“He is innocent !” 

“Very likely,” replied Treacher, dryly, and in a 
manner that was anything but encouraging. “But 
the innocent are hanged sometimes, indeed fre- 
quently.” 

The color died out of Aileen’s cheeks, and a sup- 
pressed cry of horror broke from her lips. 

“Now, if the worst comes to the worst,” con- 
tinued Treacher, “his safety rests in two people’s 
hands. ’ ’ 

“Tell me — whose? I beg! I pray!” 

“Yours and mine!” 

“Yours and mine?” 

“Exactly! Look here!” with a change of manner, 
and as if taking a sudden resolution, “I’ll beat about 
the bush no longer. I didn’t come to see Tom Chi- 
chester. I came to see you. The question is, will you 
save him?” 

Would she save him? She would give the last 
drop of her blood for Tom ! But somehow she did 
not wholly trust this man, and so she hesitated. 

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, after a 
moment’s silence. 

“To keep him from a prison certainly, from the 
gallows perhaps,” replied Treacher, impressively. 
“Come with me. I’ll bring you face to face with 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 165 

some one who saw the whole affair, and then you’ll 
be able to prove Chichester blameless.” 

“You swear this?” exclaimed Aileen, with her 
hands pressed against her breast as if to still the 
throbbing of her heart. 

“Yes.” 

“Then — then why don’t you prove it yourself?” 

This was an unexpected question, and one difficult 
to answer, but the wily lawyer was equal to the occa- 
sion. 

“Well, you see, it’s not professional. Besides, I 
want paying for my trouble. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I’ll pay you!” eagerly. 

“Yes, I expect you to.” And in that he spoke 
only the truth. “But that’s not all. I can’t do this 
business alone. Moments are precious. I know what’s 
in the wind. Will you come with me or not?” 

Aileen had been fighting with herself all through 
this speech. Something warned her that there might 
be treachery somewhere. And yet, suppose Tom 
really was in danger, as she had only too good reason 
to suppose, and this lawyer was speaking the truth 
when he said that she alone could save him ? Save 
him ! Save her Tom ! Yes, she would risk anything 
for that. 

“I will go with you,” she said, at last, thrusting 
aside her tremors and thinking only of the man she 
loved whose fate might rest in her hands, “Wait 


166 AILEEN FALLS INTO THF TRAP. 

here a moment. I must speak to my uncle before I 

leave. Where shall I tell him I’m going?” 

“To my house at High gate. I’ve a cab at the 
door. You’ll be back in no time. ” 

Aileen looked at him, her lips trembling and her 
beautiful eyes full of wistful appeal. 

“Mr. Treacher, can I trust you?” 

For a brief space, just a little touched by her help- 
lessness, the lawyer’s conscience smote him ; yet not 
strongly nor for long. 

“Yes, you can, Miss Millar,” he said, at last, re- 
garding her with unwavering steadiness. 

And with this assertion Aileen was forced to be 
content. She moved away and vanished into the 
back room. 

Treacher chuckled inaudibly to himself. The plan 
had worked admirably. It was really an excellent 
idea of Gridston’s. 

Once safe in the villa at Highgate, it would not be 
a difficult matter to intimidate this frail girl, and, 
under promise of clearing young Chichester, to in- 
duce her to sign a document which would amply 
repay Treacher for his trouble. To be sure, Gridston 
had further designs, but whether these were success- 
ful or not mattered but little to the lawyer, so long 
as his own pockets were well lined. 

When Aileen returned shfe was dressed in hat and 


AILEEN FALLS INTO THE TRAP. 167 

cloak, and was rather nervously putting on her 
gloves. 

“Come, Mr. Treacher, I am ready,” she said. 

“Good!” 

As they passed out into the hall, Becky Vetch came 
toward them. 

“I’m going out, Becky,” said Aileen. # “When 
Miss Gracie comes home, tell her I have gone out 
with this gentleman, Mr. Treacher, on important 
business and that I shall be back very soon.” 

“Very well, miss,” answered Becky, a little anx- 
iously. “But where shall I say you’ve gone to, 
miss?” 

“Say I’m trying to save us all from a fearful 
trouble and ask them to pray for my success.” 

As the cab drove away from the door a tall gentle- 
man, with a clean-shaven, intelligent face, was 
coming up the street. 

He glanced toward the cab, and as his keen eyes 
rested upon the occupants, he started slightly, 
paused, and half turned, as if with the intention of 
following. 

But in a moment he evidently changed his mind, 
for he resumed his first course, and walked slowly 
along until the cab had vanished around the corner. 

Then he mounted the steps of the Widow Vetch’s 
lodging-house and rang the bell. 


168 


THE LAST LINK. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE LAST LINK. 

As the door closed behind Aileen and the lawyer 
Becky stood staring after them for a moment. 

The clever little girl scarcely understood the situa- 
tion. 

That was a most extraordinary speech of Miss 
Aileen ’s. To save all of us from a fearful trouble ! 
What could she have meant ? 

“I don’t like that man,” muttered Becky to her- 
self. “Treacher! Treacher! I wonder how he spells 
his name?” 

She was worried, but she was also at a loss as to 
what to do. At all events, she thought, after a mo- 
ment, it was too late now to do anything. So, with 
a sigh, she turned away to go down stairs. 

But, just as she did so, there came a peal at the 
bell. 

Becky, thinking those whom she had been specu- 
lating about had returned, ran to the door. 

But no! It was not Miss Aileen, but a man whom 
Becky, with a shiver of dismay, recognized at once. 


THE LAST LINK. 


169 


Still, she did not think it best to betray this recog- 
nition. 

“What do you want, sir, please?” she asked, in 
the most matter-of-fact way that, under the circum- 
stances, she could assume. 

“Is Mr. Thomas Chichester at home?” asked the 
gentleman, quietly. 

“No, sir,” replied Becky, thankful that he was 
not, and she could answer truthfully. “He left word 
that if anybody called, particularly, that he was gone 
to Scotland. Are you particular?” 

“Yes, very,” replied the visitor. “You mean Scot- 
land Yard, though.” 

“How do you know?” retorted Becky, placing her 
arms akimbo, and prepared to fight out the matter to 
the last extent. 

No one knew better than the gentleman at the 
door where Tom had gone,*as it was he who had sent 
the message. 

“Nevermind,” he answered, with a wave of his 
hand, and then he asked, apparently apropos of 
nothing. “Is the old gentleman better?” 

“Who told you he’d been ill?” queried Becky, in 
the most aggressive manner possible. 

“Never mind. ” 

“But I do!” losing her temper. 

“Now don’t get excited, my young friend, ” said 
the gentleman, in a way which was intended to be 


170 


THE LAST LINK. 


soothing, but which exasperated Becky, knowing 
what she did. “Don’t think I ask out of any idle 
curiosity. No, on the contrary.” 

Becky was quite ready to snap out at him, and 
even to close the door in his face, but just at that 
moment the door of the front drawing-room opened, 
and a thin, white-faced old man appeared upon the 
threshold. He was clothed in a loose-fitting dressing- 
gown, and looked as if he were just recovering from 
a serious illness, which indeed was the truth. 

“Where is Aileen?” lie asked, in a querulous 
voice. 

The gentleman at the door gave him one look. 

“That is the very man I want,” he thought to 
himself. “If I can get three minutes with him, my 
case will be complete. ’ ’ 

“Miss Aileen has gone out with Mr. Treacher, 
sir,” answered Becky, turning with a look of con- 
cern toward Mr. Chichester. 

Treacher! So the keen -faced man had not been 
mistaken. It was that lawyer renowned for his ques- 
tionable methods whom he had seen in the cab. He 
almost regretted now that he had not obeyed his first 
impulse and followed him. Who could tell what 
deviltry was on foot there? 

Mr. Clarkson, police inspector of Scotland Yard, 
was, in spite of his calling, which is apt to make one 
callous, a man of large sympathies. Perhaps for that 


THE LAST LINK. 


171 


very reason he was one of the most valuable members 
of the London detective force. He was less liable, 
for the sake of gain, to make false accusations, and 
to insist that his first diagnosis of the case was right, 
even when he ought to know that it was wrong. 

But still, he knew how to do his duty. He, there- 
fore, pushed by Becky and approached Mr. Chi-. 
Chester. 

“Here’s some one to see Mr. Thomas, sir,” said 
Becky, irritated, and worried as well. 

“Never mind,” said Clarkson, calmly. “This 
gentleman will do equally well. ’ ’ Then, bowing to Mr. 
Chichester, he added, with the utmost courtesy : “I 
should like two minutes’ conversation with you.” 

Mr. Chichester, a little dazed, motioned him to 
enter the parlor, drawing back to allow him to pass. 

Becky, with compressed lips, followed. She knew 
the invalid was alone, and, plucky little girl that she 
was, she was determined to protect him. 

The gentleman from Scotland Yard raised his eye- 
brows at her unsolicited entrance. 

“I should like to speak to this gentleman in. 
private, ’ ’ he said. 

Becky tossed her head. 

“I understand,” she answered, but making no 
movement to obey the implied command. “You 
want me to leave you alone with him, but I don’t 
think it’s safe. I shall stay where I am,” 


172 


THE LAST LINI{. 


Without waiting for the undesired and undesirable 
guest, as he appeared to her, to answer, she caught 
Mr. Chichester gently by the arm, and leading him 
to an arm-chair in front of the fire, installed him 
comfortably therein. 

Clarkson was a little nonplused, not a little to his 
amusement, however, for the inspector had a certain 
sense of humor. 

“Indeed !” he ejaculated, with an uplifting of his 
brows. 

Becky, with one hand resting upon the back of 
Mr. Chichester’s chair in a protecting manner, faced 
the speaker with an exhibition of far more courage 
than she really felt at heart. 

“Yes. You see, lie’s been very ill, and he’s weak, 
and you might lead him on to say things he’d be 

sorry for afterward, because ” She hesitated just 

a second, and then went on, boldly: “Because I know 
who you are, though you’re dressed different. You’re 
Inspector Clarkson, who first brought in the bad 
news. ” 

As if galvanized into life, old Mr. Chichester, 
whose manner hitherto had been listless and lifeless, 
when he heard these words, leaped excitedly from 
his chair. 

“What’s that!” he exclaimed, tremulously, “In- 
spector Clarkson!” 

To Becky’s dismay, who had never for a moment 


THE LAST LINK. 


173 


anticipated that her words would have such an effect, 
he staggered toward the member of the police force, 
with both arms extended. 

“Tell me! Have they — have they found the mur- 
derer of my son?” 

“No, sir,” replied Clarkson, gently, but deter- 
mined to do his duty, painful as it might be to his 
feelings as a man. “No, sir. But, with your help, I 
think I shall be able to lay my hands on him.” 

The poor old man trembled all over, and his eyes 
flashed at the thought that the death of his beloved 
son might possibly be avenged. 

“My help!” he replied, his voice rising almost to 
a shriek in his excitement. “I’ll do anything — any- 
thing — to avenge my Harry! Becky, Becky, leave 
the room!” 

Poor Becky, thus adjured, felt that, much against 
her will as it was, she would be forced to obey, but 
the inspector stopped her with a gesture. 

“No,” he said, with a quiet authority, in strong 
contrast to the agitation of Mr. Chichester, “on 
second thought, you’d better stay, and — listen ! 
You’ll be a good witness.” 

Becky did not like the tone in which these words 
were spoken, but, although with inward perturba- 
tion, she remained where she was, an unhappy 
listener to the scene which ensued. 

“You see, sir,” said Clarkson, addressing Mr. Chi- 


174 


THE LAST LINK. 


Chester, “you’ve been too ill to give evidence before, 
but now I want to ask you a question or two. ’ ’ 

“Go on,” replied the old gentleman, only too anx- 
ious with the object in view to give any information 
in his power. 

Clarkson, very careful not to alarm him, began his 
examination, for examination it was, in the mildest 
manner possible. 

“You hadn’t seen either of your sons for some 
time before the night of the crime?” 

“No. Tom for over a year, and — and the other 
for several months.” 

“Was the unfortunate gentleman on good terms 
with all his relations before this separation?” 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Chichester, leaning back 
against the chair, but fighting- with all his strength 
against his weakness in order to give all the informa- 
tion in his power, not dreaming for a moment whom 
this infoimation was tending to incriminate. “Yes, 
all — that is, all but ” 

“His brother, eh?” suggested the inspector. 

“His brother,” acknowledged Mr. Chichester, 
sorrowfully, though unsuspiciously. “Yes.” 

“Something about a lady, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

At this Clarkson suddenly produced two pistols, 
and advancing, held them out for the old man’s in- 
spection. 


THE LA.ST LINK. 


175 


“Look at these pistols, ” he said, with an abrupt- 
ness which was startling and which was meant to be 
so. “One of them was the cause of your son’s death, 
and one your oldest son acknowledges to be his, or 
rather yours. Now, Mr. Chichester, which do you 
recognize?” 

It was a cruel thing to do, considering the old gen- 
tleman’s condition, and Clarkson knew it, but he 
sternly crushed back everything except the sense of 
what his duty demanded of him — the discovery of 
the murderer by any and all means in his power. 

Mr. Chichester bent forward and looked closely at 
the two weapons produced for -his examination. 

Then he pointed a quivering finger toward one of 
them. 

“That is the one my son Tom took from me,” he 
said. 

A look of satisfaction, not unmingled with pity, 
stole over the inspector’s face. He returned the pis- 
tols to his pocket, announcing, as he did so : 

“And that is the one the crime was committed 
with. ” 

At this Becky, realizing it all, turned to fly, but as 
she did so, she confronted Tom Chichester, who had 
entered unperceived and had heard it all. 

He was standing in the door- way with white, set 
face. 


176 


THE LAST LINK. 


Tom put his hand to his lips, enjoining silence, 
and Becky, tremblingly drew back. 

For a moment Mr. Chichester did not understand 
all that his admission implied. Then, as it dawned 
upon him, he staggered back with a cry of horror. 

“What! What do you say?” 

“That my case is complete,” replied the detective, 
triumphantly, his professional pride for the moment 
coming to the fore and driving back all softer feel- 
ings. “And I shall be compelled to arrest Mr. 
Thomas Chichester for the murder of his brother!” 

At this Tom stepped forward, startling equally the 
inspector and his father. 

With head thrown back and figure drawn proudly 
up to its full height, he announced, bravely : 

“HereTam! Take me! I’m not going to run 
away, even from such a charge as that f* ’ 

At the sound of his voice, Clarkson turned with a 
start. 

But the effect upon Mr. Chichester was even more 
violent. 

With arms outstretched, he staggered toward his 
son, realizing most fully what he had innocently 
done. 

“Oh, Tom, forgive me!” he moaned. “I didn’t 
know! I didn’t know!” 

Tom sprang forward and caught his father in his 


arms. 


THE LAST LINK. 


177 


“There’s nothing to forgive, father,” he said, ten- 
derly. “You were asked a question which neither 
Gillie nor myself could answer at the inquest. Re- 
member the pistol was in our hands only a moment. 
You have spoken the truth, and, whatever the conse- 
quences may be, you are not to blame. ’ ’ 

He led his father to the chair and forced him down 
gently into it. 

“Now, sir,” he said, turning to the inspector, who 
had been quietly watching the scene, “what do you 
intend to do?” 

“I’m very sorry,” returned Clarkson, slowly, and 
the tone of his voice showed that he was sincere, 
“but you must come with me.” 

“Arrested !” 

The inspector bowed. 

“My son! My son!” moaned the old man, in 
agony. 

“Don’t give way, dad,” said Tom, patting him 
encouragingly upon the shoulder. “I’m not the first 
innocent man to go to jail. ” 

Clarkson was puzzled. He had arrested many a 
supposed criminal, but none who had taken the 
matter in this way, with the quiet confidence that all 
would end well. And yet the proofs were overwhelm- 
ingly against him. 

“Where’s my sister, Becky, and Miss Millar?” 


178 


THE LAST LINK. 


asked Tom, turning to- the little maid, whose eyes 
were full of tears. 

“Miss Gracie is out with Mr. Fletcher,” whim- 
pered Becky, “and Miss Aileen went away in a hurry 
with a — a Mr. Treacher. ’ ’ 

Then, unable to control her emotion longer, she 
flung her apron over her head and rushed from the 
room. 

A look of alarm passed over Tom’s face. 

“Treacher!” he exclaimed. “Aileen with that 
scoundrel?” 

“I quite agree with you,” put in Clarkson. “I 
saw them drive away in a cab and didn’t like it I 
know that .man Treacher by reputation, and know 
nothing good of him. But,” reluctantly, “I’m afraid 
we must be moving.” 

“You’ll surely let me wait until my friends come 
back,” ejaculated Tom, thinking of the alarm that 
would be caused, if the girls returned and heard his 
father’s story, which he knew would be anything but 
coherent. 

Clarkson bit his lip. Although belonging to the 
police force, he was a man whose sympathies were 
still alive. They had not been crushed out by his 
profession. 

“I regret it’s my duty,” he replied, “to place you 
in — well — a place of safety as soon as possible.” 

Tom, his heart like lead in his breast, turned 


THE LAST LINK. 


179 

toward his trembling father to say what he could to 
encourage him. 

But just then the tear-stained face of Becky ap- 
peared at the door. 

“If you please, sir,” she said, “there’s a gentle- 
man to see you, sir. ’ ’ 

Before Tom could speak there pushed by her a 
man whose general appearance proclaimed that he 
was an upper servant of some sort — in other words, a 
gentleman’s gentleman. 

“Which one of you is Mr. Thomas Chichester?” 
he asked. 

“I am,” replied Tom, stepping forward. 

“Then, sir,” extending a crumpled note, “I was 
to give you this. ’ ’ 

Tom took the paper and opened it. 

u I'm a prisoner in Gridston' s house at Highgate ," 
he read aloud. “ You don't know me , but I know you, 
or, rather, of you. Save me if you can! I know who 
murdered your brother. Fietly Burnsides ." 

The paper fell from Tom’s nerveless fingers. 

“Do you hear that?” he cried, excitedly, address- 
ing Inspector Clarkson. 

The police official turned to the messenger who 
had biought the communication. 

“What do you know of this?” he asked, sternly, 
fixing his piercing eyes upon the man’s face. 

The man hesitated, and then blurted out : 


180 


THE LAST LINK. 


“I was promised twenty pounds if I delivered 
it.” 

“Who are you?” 

“I was Captain Gridston’s valet, but I was dis- 
charged this morning. ’ ’ 

“I’ll go at once!” exclaimed Tom, impulsively. 

“You forget you’re under arrest,” retorted the in- 
spector, restraining him with a gesture. 

The face of the bearer of the note expressed the 
most profound surprise at this statement. 

“But surely,” exclaimed Tom, pleadingly, and in 
the greatest excitement, “you’ll give me a chance to 
find the murderer of my brother and to save myself!” 

It was a very difficult position in which the in- 
spector was placed. On the one hand was an infringe- 
ment of his duty, on the other the possibility of re- 
fusing an innocent man the chance of saving his 
neck from the gallows. 

He hesitated, glanced scrutinizingly at the man 
who was virtually his prisoner, and then made up his 
mind to take the chances. After all, he was a man 
before being a policeman. 

“Yes, I will!” he declared, “for,” with the force 
of conviction, “I don’t believe you’re guilty! The 
law says I mustn’t lose sight of you. Well, I won’t! 
For I’ll come and help you if I can ! It may save a 
mistake, and my idea of police work is to prevent 
crime as well as to discover it. ’ ’ 


THE LAST LINK. 


181 


Torn started forward and caught the inspector’s 
hand in a firm grasp. 

“God bless you!” he muttered, brokenly. “You’re 
a gentleman!” 


182 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


CHAPTER XII. 

B IRDS OF PREY. 

It was the Panther’s birthday. And she had ar- 
ranged an entertainment on a scale of magnificence 
which was unprecedented even for her whose extrava- 
gance had become proverbial. 

After the terrible shock caused by her lover’s sud- 
den death, Cynthia had been invisible for an entire 
week, a week during which she had really suffered, 
and when the thought of becoming an inmate of a 
convent and within those sacred walls atoning for the 
faults and sins of her life, had seriously entered her 
mind. 

But then she had suddenly flashed forth again 
among her old associates, more superb, .more auda- 
cious than ever. Her equipages, her gowns, her 
jewels, her reckless prodigality became the talk of 
the town. 

She flew from one dissipation to another with a 
mad, feverish gayety, trying to seek that forgetful- 
ness which never came. 

With her beauty and her vogue, she had no lack of 
admirers, and men were now simply her prey, objects 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


183 


f 

to be fascinated, to dazzle for a brief hour, and then, 
stripped of all, to be left with a cynical laugh, to 
struggle through or leave their ruined lives as pleased 
them best. 

And now, on her natal day, she had determined 
upon this entertainment which should be the acme of 
folly, for which money should be flung away with 
both hands, as if it were the merest dirt. 

Forgetfulness, forgetfulness was all she asked, if 
only for that one night. 

Was it her conscience that was troubling her, or 
was it grief for the untimely fate of the one man she 
had loved as well as it was in her nature to love any 
one? Who can tell? Probably she herself would have 
found it impossible to answer this question. 

At all events she flung herself, heart and soul, into 
the preparations for her birthday fete. 

The decorations were to be magnificent, the supper 
superb, and the music the finest procurable for 
money ; and the Panther, queen as she was of her 
own peculiar world, had no lack of the golden coin 
of the realm. Neither Mabel Gray nor Cora Pearl, 
at the height of their famous or infamous careers, 
was more renowned, more sought after, more adored 
by the gilded youth than she. 

And this entertainment to-night, leaving out all its 
gorgeousness, was to be unique in at least one re- 
spect. The male sex was to be strictly excluded. 


184 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


Taken by a sudden freak, the Panther had decided 
that only women were to be received by her for that 
one evening. 

In vain had Gridston, who still retained his posi- 
tion as “ Vami de la maison protested against this 
decision. Cynthia had remained firm. 

The captain, as he styled himself, had been any- 
thing but easy in his mind for some time after the 
tragedy in the grounds of the Highgate villa, but, as 
day after day went by and no suspicion seemed to 
attach itself to him, he recovered his wonted serenity. 
He was in particularly good spirits to-night. The 
girl, whom, or rather whose fortune, he had made up 
his mind to marry had been lured into Jiis power, 
and he felt confident he could play upon her weak- 
ness so as to secure his own ends. 

There was the light of anticipated triumph in his 
eyes as he saw his jackal, Treacher, enter the room, 
where he was waiting to hear his report as to' the 
first interview with Miss Millar. 

“Well, how did you get on?” he asked, breath- 
lessly. 

• “Badly, ” replied the lawyer, with a crest-fallen air. 

“How do you mean?” with angry disappointment. 

“Well, I offered to prove Tom Chichester innocent 
in return for a certain sum of money and her accept- 
ance of you for a husband.” 

“And?” 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


185 


“She refused point-blank.” 

Gridston pulled his mustache furiously. 

“You offered to clear Tom Chichester, you say?” 

“Yes.” 

“What did she say?” 

“That Tom Chichester could clear himself.” 

“Can he? I think not. Not without our aid. Our 
• testimony would have fixed the crime conclusively 
upon that madman, Burnsides. Where is she now?” 

“In the study. ” 

“You fool!” burst out Gridston. 

But Treacher checked him by holding up a key. 

“The door is locked,” he said, hurriedly. “She’s 
quite safe. And she must be kept so. Our offer’s a 
dangerous one. We’re obliged to be careful. ' But in 
a few hours she’s bound to come to her senses. 
Then,” with a grin that was full of significance, “I’ll 
provide her with our guilty man. By the way, how 
is he?” 

“Oh, he’s well enough — considering,” answered 
Gridston, with a shudder. 

“Who’s looking after him?” 

“My servant, Amos, was, but I sacked him this 
morning. ” 

“Why?” 

“Because I refused to double his wages.” 

“Humph!” ejaculated Treacher, reflectively. “He 
suspects something. Be careful. Get Burnsides away 


186 


BIRDS OP PREY. 


from here as soon as possible, to some other 
place. ’ ’ 

“We’ll arrange that to-morrow.” 

The grewsome promise that Gridston had given to 
the Panther had not been fulfilled. Fretly Burnsides 
was still alive. After what had occurred, it would 
have been more than dangerous to have the villa at 
Highgate the scene of a second violent death. But 
Burnsides was kept a close prisoner in a strongly 
barricaded room at the top of the house. There was 
more reason than ever to allow him no communica- 
tion with the outside world. 

On the night that Harry Chichester had been shot 
Burnsides had recovered his consciousness in time to 
see the flash of the pistol upon the balcony. Both 
Gridston and Cynthia were aware of this, but while 
the very thought that his secret was known caused 
the man spasms of terror, the woman appeared to 
care little or not at all. The present was all she 
seemed to think about, how to extract the utmost of 
reckless excitement out of the passing hour. The 
past she thrust resolutely away from her, and the 
future inspired her with neither hope nor fear. 

As she swept to-night into the anteroom where 
Gridston and Treacher were, thus interrupting their 
conversation, she was such a glorious picture in her 
superb, audacious beauty that both men involuntarily 
caught their breath in admiration. 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


187 


She was magnificently gowned in a robe of pale 
pink satin, heavily embroidered, with a train of a 
deeper shade, brocaded in gold and silver. 

Upon the masses of her silky black hair rested a 
tiara of diamonds and rubies, and upon her neck and 
arms and from a girdle which she wore about her 
waist, flashed gems worthy of a prince’s ransom. 

And no one knew better how to carry off all this 
gorgeousness than the Panther. She wore her bro- 
cade and jewels with the grace and haughty disdain 
of an empress. 

She was a trifle thinner than she had been, per- 
haps, her cheek glowed with a brighter carmine and 
her beautiful eyes flashed with a more gleaming fire. 
Her movements were also a little more rapid, a little 
more nervous than before, but quite as graceful, with 
all the grace of a lithe, lissome ranger of the virgin 
forests. 

As her eyes met those of Gridston the heavy lids 
drooped disdainfully, vailing the somnolent fires be- 
low. She had always, except just at first, felt more 
or less of a contempt for the man, but of late there 
had been times when she positively hated him. Still, 
partly from the force of habit, partly for the reason 
that he was still useful to her, she had not broken 
with him yet. 

“Rose told me ypu wanted me,” she said, curtly. 


188 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


“What is it? Be as quick as you can. And leave 
the house. My guests are arriving. ’ ’ 

Gridston came forward a little, his senses in a whirl 
at the beauty of this woman he had loved so long 
and so vainly ; that is, so far as any return of his 
passion was concerned. 

“You really insist on carrying out this whim of 
yours?” he asked, deprecatingly, knowing full well, 
however, that his influence was nil. 

“Certainly,’’ replied the Panther, with a cold 
smile that was anything but flattering to him, had 
Gridston known how to interpret it. “Yes, to-night 
is my birthday supper, and I’ll not have a man in 
the place. I’ve an idea to be independent for once. 
Now go !” 

The last injunction was spoken with such sup- 
pressed force that Gridston could not but understand, 
and, loving her as he did, for a moment his temper 
got the best of him. 

He came close to her, and hissed in her ear : 

“Go, you say! Not a man here, eh? How about 
the man up stairs? The one who knows everything. 
Your husband — how about him?” 

But if he hoped to intimidate Cynthia Dell, to give 
her the name by which she was known, he certainly 
reckoned without his hostess. 

She flashed upon him one glance, surcharged with 


BIRD'S OF ‘PBET. 


189 


contempt, and then she answered, frigidly and confi- 
dently : 

“We have nothing to fear from him.” 

Gridston staggered back, a horrible yet to him 
grateful suspicion entering his mind. 

“What do you mean?” he exclaimed, in a half- 
whisper. 

“I deemed it advisable to interview him this even- 
ing,” replied Cynthia, nonchalantly. 

“And?” 

‘ ‘ His lips are sealed forever. ’ ’ 

Gridston started back. 

“Dead!” he faltered. 

Cynthia laughed. She was thoroughly enjoying 
the Tantalus-like torture to which she had put him. 

“Oh, no,” she said, with exasperating slowness, 
“but silent as the tomb.” 

“Explain, Cynthia!” 

“You really wish it?” 

“Yes, yes!” 

“I don’t know why I should since if you believe 
me, I have already removed the cause of any fear on 
your part. But perhaps, after all,” with the utmost 
significance, “you are the one who has the most 
cause for fear. ’ ’ 

Treacher, who knew all the circumstances of the 
case, listened to this diabolical banter with the keen- 
est appreciation. Necessary though he was to him, 


190 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


he had no love for his principal, and he could not 
but enjoy the suspense which he knew he was under- 
going. 

“Cynthia!” exclaimed Gridston, piteously. “Tell 
me what you mean!” 

“Why, don’t you understand?” she returned, with 
a sneer that was absolutely and intentionally insult- 
ing. “Do you think I need material weapons to 
quiet him? I told him I was guilty, I, ’’ with a cer- 
tain self-contempt which she really felt and the out- 
ward expression of which she could not wholly re- 
press, “I, the woman he is still fool enough to love. 
I, his wife ! Do you understand now ?’ ’ 

Gridston breathed a deep sigh of relief. He did 
understand, and recognized fully what a stroke of 
genius such a declaration was. Burnsides would 
never accuse this woman whom he adored, evil star 
though she had been of his life. And, more than 
all, this removed the one witness whom Gridston 
feared, most effectually closing his mouth. 

“Upon my word,” he exclaimed, with undisguised 
admiration, “Cynthia, you are a female Macchi- 
avelli !” 

The Panther shrugged her white shoulders. His 
compliments or his censures were alike indifferent to 
her. 

“Perhaps,” she said, scornfully. “Now go!” 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


191 


Gridston was about to obey, but was arrested by 
Treacher saying, in his high-pitched voice : 

“I beg your pardon, tnadame, just one word.” 

The Panther’s nostrils dilated, and she looked at 
the attorney as a goddess might have contemplated 
some wretched mortal who dared to address her. 

“Go on,” she said, briefly. 

Treacher cleared his throat, and then said, with a 
Uriah Heep humbleness: 

“I gave you my advice about Miss Millar before 
Captain Gridston arrived. The lady is still in the 
study, and obstinate. It is best to keep her there. 
You understand. ” 

A flash of diabolical joy passed over Cynthia’s face, 
only to fade instantly away. This Aileen, whom she 
hated instinctively, with such hatred as only women 
of her class and disposition can feel toward the pure 
of her sex, was beneath her roof, in her power ! And 
that power she was determined to use ruthlessly. But 
she gave no outward expression to this resolution. 

On the contrary, with the most careless manner in 
the world, she took the key of the study ' which 
Treacher extended to her. 

“I’ll put Rose there to watch,” she said, coldly. 
“I can depend upon her.” 

Treacher bowed. Somehow this woman always 
intimidated him. With a few confused words, which, 
being interpreted, meant a wish of many happy re- 


19-2 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


turns of the day, he left the room, and, shortly after- 
ward, the house. 

“Good-night, Cynthia,” sftid Gridston, feeling 
.liimself dismissed. “Take care of your guests. And 
, remember, ” with feverish impressiveness, “our lives 
depend upon two of them. Good-night.” 

> “ Good -night, ” responded Cynthia, with a careless 

i 

nod of her queenly head. 

As Gridston disappeared, her eyes contracted with 
a peculiar, sinister expression. 

“You put a high value on your own life, my 
friend,” she muttered, half aloud. And then, with a 
heavy sigh and a weary out-flinging of her bejeweled 
hands, she added: “For myself, I’m tired of it all !” 

She moved slowly away to go to her guests, but 
was met on the threshold by her maid, Rose, who, as 
she caught sight of her mistress, exclaimed, in an 
agitated tone: 

“If you please, ma’am, I’ve received a telegram 
from Amos, Captain Gridston ’s servant, you know, 
ma’am.” 

Cynthia- paused. One of her good points was that 
she was never rude to those she paid to serve her. 

“And your sweetheart,” she said, with a weary 
smile. “Well, what of it?” 

“There’s something in it I thought you’d like to 
know. Read it, ma’am,” extending the yellow slip 
of paper. 


BIRDS OF PREY. 


193 


Cynthia took it and glanced at it at first perfunc- 
torily, and then with eager interest. 

“What’s this?” she cried. “ Tell your mistress 
that Mr. Thomas Chichester was ay rested to-night for 
the murder of his brother. ’ ’ 

Who can tell what it was that impelled Amos to 
send such a telegram ? Perhaps it was partially to 
give Rose information that would gain her mistress’ 
favor, but more likely it was far more due to that 
fascination which the Panther exercised over the vast 
majority of men, both of high and low degree. 

Most certainly the news was pleasing to the one it 
was intended to please. 

“You have brought me the best news, Rose, I 
have had for years! You shall be paid for it! Go!” 

Reft alone, the Panther laughed aloud with fiend- 
ish exultation. 

“Harry, I can avenge you at last!” she murmured, 
with fierce, savage joy. “The woman I detest is in 
this house, in my power, the man I hate in prison. I 
am almost, almost happy!” 


194 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 

The double drawing-rooms of the Panther’s villa 
were ablaze with light, and filled with brilliantly 
attired women of all shades of complexion, both 
natural and assumed. 

Not a masculine black -coat among them all. Even 
the servants, who circulated the champagne, of 
which there was a never-ending flow, were girls in 
the silk stockings, plush breeches, and liveried coats 
of footmen. 

The music of the latest comic operas floated 
through the perfumed atmosphere from a band con- 
cealed behind a screen of palms, a band composed of 
female musicians from Vienna. 

The music, it must be confessed, however, was not 
listened to, nor, if any one had desired, would it have 
been possible to enjoy it, so persistent was the chatter 
and so loud the laughter of the guests who were all 
just a little exhilarated by the wine they had imbibed 
in honor of their hostess. 

The Panther was here, there, and everywhere, 
graceful as a houri, overflowing with musical laugh- 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 


195 


ter, and scintillating with wit. To have seen her, a 
stranger would have said that she was the happiest 
woman in the world, one who did not know what 
care was. 

Upon a large table at one end of the room was 
piled a heterogeneous, glittering mass, the birthday 
gifts offered by the women to their acknowledged 
leader, the one who was pre-eminent among them all 
for beauty and intellect. 

Cynthia paused near the table and cast a half- 
contemptuous, half-gratified glance at its contents. 
She cared little for the worth of the gifts, which was 
not inconsiderable, and still less for the motive that 
prompted their bestowal, which she reckoned at its 
just worth. But the homage implied in the recognition 
of her claims as Queen of Bohemia, pleased her. She 
was not a woman to brook a rival. 

She faced the company, and raised one white hand, 
blazing with gems, to command silence. 

Gradually the voices and laughter died away. 

u My dear friends,” said the Panther, in that pecu- 
liarly rich, sensuous voice of hers, as she glanced 
from one to the other with a brilliant smile, “really 
I hardly know how to thank you. Your presents are 
exquisite, your generosity is overwhelming. ’ ’ 

“Bah,” laughed a girl with hair of such a vivid 
and pronounced yellow that it was clear to the most 
casual observer that the hue was due to art rather 


196 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 


than to nature. “My dear, we don’t pay for 
them. ’ ’ 

“Lots more where they came from,” chimed in 
another. 

“Yes,” added a third, with a burst of cynical 
laughter, “a pound or two more or less, what does it 
matter?” 

Amid the general merriment at the expense of the 
foolish members of the opposite sex who thus per- 
mitted their money to be squandered, one of the tall 
girl footmen, to commit an Irish bull, announced, in 
a shrill voice : 

“Mrs. Moreland.” 

All turned toward the door as Beatrice came rust- 
ling in, clad in a robe which was, to say the least, 
startling, being an extraordinary mixture of nearly 
all the colors of the rainbow. 

A murmur, half-admiring, half-sarcastic, went 
around. 

“My dear Beatrice,” murmured Cynthia, gliding 
forward with outstretched hands. “You have come 
at last !” 

The two women exchanged a kiss, as they gener- 
ally did, even though at heart they were enemies and 
rivals, and each was aware of the fact. 

“Why so late?” asked the hostess. 

An expression of sadness swept over Beatrice’s 
face. 


THE PANTHER'S BIRTHDAY. 197 

“Poor Clementine!” she said, with a sorrowful 
shake of her blonde head. u> The consumption, you 
know. ” 

Beatrice Moreland, in spite of her vagaries and her 
hasty temper, was not a bad woman at heart. Many 
of her sisters, who had been legs fortunate pecuniarily 
than herself, could have told of acts of kindness and 
generosity performed by her hands. 

“Is she dead?” asked Cynthia. 

“Yes. In the hospital, two hours ago. I couldn’t 
leave her.” 

“Poor Clementine! You knew her well, did you 
not?” 

“Yes. We were at school together in the country,” 
replied Beatrice, turning away with a sigh. 

Many of the other women present had also known 
the unfortunate girl and felt an instant’s commisera- 
tion for her untimely fate. But this was no time nor 
place for mourning, so very shortly Clementine was 
forgotten and the ^conversation was as lively and the 
laughter as loud as ever. 

“Did you ever see such a dress?” whispered the 
yellow-haired girl to the one who was seated beside 
her, with a nod of her head toward Beatrice. 

“She looks like a stained-glass window, ” laughed 
her companion. 

Meanwhile, all unconscious of the somewhat ill- 
natured criticism, for the sharp tongue of the brill- 


198 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 


iantly arrayed woman had rendered her rather un- 
popular with her associates, Beatrice had turned 
again to the Panther. 

“Oh, I was nearly forgetting, ” she said, with a 
peculiar smile. “My dear girl, let me wish you many, 
many happy returns of this, your birthday supper. 
Pray accept my little present. ’ ’ 

As she spoke she extended to Cynthia a small 
mahogany box. 

“Thanks, Beatrice, many thanks,” said the Pan- 
ther, graciously, taking the box and opening it. 

As her eyes rested upon the contents she could not 
repress a slight start. 

“Pistols!” 

“Yes, dear,” said Beatrice, sweetly, but with a 
malicious smile hovering about her lips. “I chose 
them because they are pretty to look at and may be 
useful. ” 

“Ah, yes.” 

Beatrice glanced at her askance, and could not 
resist making the bitter speech which darted into her 
head. 

“You know, dear, you have so many enemies, ” 
she said, slowly and with emphasis. 

But clever as she was, Beatrice Moreland was no 
match for the Panther in a duel of words, either with 
the foils on or off. 

“Yes,” assented Cynthia, calmly, taking the pis- 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 


199 


tols from the box and examining them, “and none 
more dangerous than myself. ” 

She replaced the weapons and laid the box upon 
the table with the other presents. Then she faced 
the donor. Her lips were smiling, but there was a 
dangerous gleam in the depths of her dark eyes. 

“Thanks for your present, Beatrice,’’ she said, 
without a tremor in her voice to betray her real feel- 
ings. “As you say, I have many enemies, especially 
among my friends. It’s always well to be prepared.’’ 

Beatrice flushed, and her quick temper would 
probably have betrayed her into making some ill- 
advised retort, had not a bevy of women just at that 
moment, come merrily forward. 

“And now Beatrice is here,’’ cried the yellow- 
haired girl, “we can drink your health. She’s kept 
us thirsty long enough.” 

Cynthia made a sign to the servants, and soon 
every one present was furnished with a glass of the 
golden, sparkling liquid. 

“Come, Beatrice, propose her health.” 

“I don’t mind,”, replied Beatrice, good-humoredly, 
her momentary irritation vanished. Raising her glass 
high in air, she continued, in a ringing voice: 
“Here’s to the health and fortune of our friend! Call 
her what you like, my dears — Cynthia! Aspasia! 
Panther ! Call her as you love her best ! All must do 
her homage. This is her palace, she is on her throne. 


20(5 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 


Every woman beneath this roof must drink — drink a 
short life and a merry reign to her, our queen.” 

The toast was drank enthusiastically. 

The Panther accepted the compliment smilingly, 
but she was thinking less of the . honor paid to her 
than of an idea which had suggested itself by certain 
words in Beatrice’s speech. 

She had said : “Every woman beneath this roof. ” 
But there was one woman there who was not drink- 
ing her health — that girl who was a prisoner in the 
study, that Aileen but for whom Harry might have 
been alive that day, that Aileen whom she had 
always hated. 

She looked around upon the flushed Bacchante- 
like faces by which she was surrounded, and her reso- 
lution was taken. 

“I’ll have her brought here!” she thought to her- 
self, viciously. “I’ll break her heart!” 

The guests were clamoring for another toast. 

“Stop!” rang out the Panther’s voice. 

When quiet was restored she said : 

“Beatrice has said all must drink my health.” 

“Well?” 

“You said every woman in this house, didn’t you, 
Beatrice?” 

“Yes,” replied Beatrice, wonderingly, “and all 
have done so. ’ ’ 

“No,” retorted the Panther, her nostrils dilating 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 


201 


with joy at the thought of the punishment she was 
about to inflict. u No! There is one woman who has 
not drank, a woman locked in the study up stairs.” 

Instantly there was a Babel of cries. 

“A woman!” 

“ Bring her here!” 

“She must drink the health !” 

“Bring her in!” 

Cynthia beckoned one of the servants to her, and 
handed her the key of the study, at the same time 
whispering a few words in her ear. 

As the servant disappeared on her errand, Beatrice 
came close to Cynthia. 

“Who is this girl?” she asked, in a low tone. 

The Panther hesitated for a moment, and then re- 
plied, defiantly: 

“Well, if you must know, it’s Aileen Millar!” 

Beatrice started. She had never seen Miss Millar, 
but she had heard of her and knew that she was 
Harry Chichester’s cousin. How did it happen that 
she was in that house? But there was no time to 
solve the mystery now. 

“Oh, Cynthia,” she said, imploringly, “surely 
you won’t bring her here!” 

“Why not?” with a haughty stare. 

Before Beatrice could reply the servant returned. 

“Well?” asked Cynthia. 

‘ ‘ She refuses to come, madame. ’ ’ 


202 THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 

“Refuses!” angrily. “She must come! I insist!” 

“Better not, perhaps,” warned Beatrice. 

“I insist!” repeated Cynthia, imperiously. “Go, 
some of you, and bring her here.” 

Half a dozen of the women ran from the room. 

Beatrice said nothing more. She knew that it 
would be useless, but she made up her mind to be- 
friend the girl if she could. 

Aileen Millar had passed a most miserable two 
hours, cooped up as she was in the study. She had 
driven to this house with Treacher, half .afraid, half 
confident. Tom’s danger blinded her to almost any 
other consideration. But, after she was inclosed in 
the study with Treacher, and the rascally lawyer had 
made her the proposition which he did, she under- 
stood that she had been trapped, and she refused his 
propositions with the scorn that they deserved. 

But when Treacher left the room and locked the 
door behind him she knew, with a shiver of horror, 
that she had been tricked and that she was a prisoner. 

She flew to the windows, but there was no escape 
there. The gardens below loomed darkly before her, 
and to attempt to leap from the windows meant 
probable, if not certain, death. 

What should she do? She flung herself down in a 
chair and buried her face in her hands. The spider 
had ingeniously invited the fly into the web, and the 
fly had ingenuously accepted the invitation. 


THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 203 

Become that man’s wife? Never! And yet if 
Tom’s life depended upon it, what could she do? 
Better far an existence of misery' for herself than that 
the man she loved, the only man she had ever loved, 
should be made to suffer unjustly. 

After a while the sound of merriment from below 
came to her ears. Raising her head, she listened 
eagerly, but nothing save the confused murmur of 
voices and laughter reached her. 

What was this place into which she had been 
lured ? 

After what seemed to her hours of misery the key 
turned in the lock, and the door was opened. 

Upon the threshold was a woman, clad in a man’s 
livery, who bade her come below. 

Aileen instinctively refused. 

The servant disappeared. 

A few minutes after a crowd of women, superbly 
dressed, invaded her prison. 

“You must come with us,” cried one. 

“Yes, we will take no denial,” shrieked another. 

Aileen, dazed and unhappy, shrank away, but in- 
stantly she was surrounded. 

No force was used, nor did they essay to drag her, 
but, in spite of herself, she felt herself borne by mere 
force of numbers from the room and down the stairs. 

Uaughing heartily, the women carried her along 
into a glare of light. 


204 


THE PANTHER'S BIRTHDAY. 


Her entrance was greeted by shouts of acclamation. 

A strange picture she made in her plain, black 
dress amid this crowd of women in their silks and 
velvets and flashing jewels. 

She passed her hand over her eyes, as if trying to 
rouse herself from some horrible dream. 

Then before her she saw the beautiful, sneering 
face of the woman who had caused her and hers so 
much trouble, and recognized — Cynthia Dell. 

With a smothered cry of horror, she turned to fly, 
but the Panther, her black eyes flashing with tri- 
umph, prevented her. 

“Close the doors!” she cried, an order which was 
instantly obeyed. “Now she is here, she must do as 
others do.” 

Aileen stood trembling, not able to flee, a white 
dove caught in the trap of the fowler. 

Beatrice touched her on the arm reverently. The 
woman’s sympathies were aroused. 

“I’ll see you through it,” she whispered. 

Aileen glanced at the gorgeously attired woman, 
and, not understanding, involuntarily shrank away. 

Beatrice understood, however, and, hurt though 
she was, murmured, encouragingly : 

‘ ‘ Courage ! courage ! ” 

“Give her some wine!” said the Panther, eveine 
the shrinking form with malevolence and a gloating 
triumph. 


THE PANTHER’S PIRTHDAY. 205 

So might Messalina have viewed from the impfctial, 
scarlet-covered seat, the girl who had dared to dis- 
pute with her one of her lovers, but who was now 
standing in the arena below, coweringly awaiting the 
approach of the wild beasts who were to tear her to 
pieces. 

And there was no more relenting in the breast of 
Cynthia Dell than there was in the heart of the 
Roman Empress as she turned her thumb downward 
in token that no mercy was to be shown. 

One of the women thrust a glass of champagne 
into Aileen’s hand. 

The girl took it mechanically, scarcely knowing 
what she was doing. 

“Now drink!” commanded the Panther, her 
whole face illumined with unholy triumph. “Drink 
health to Aspasia or to me! Yes! Tome! The 
queen of all who live for life, for pleasure, for hap- 
piness! A health to me, then!” with increasing ex- 
citement. “Prosperity to my subjects, Woman! And 
ruin to our enemy, Man!” 

As the Panther spoke Aileen gradually realized the 
position in which she was placed. She grasped the 
situation and regained her native courage. 

She stood there quietly, her black -robed figure 
erect, her eyes calm, her whole attitude that of the 
martyr, who, if she has to suffer, will at least suffer 
with dignity and fortitude. 


206 THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY.. 

“Come!” ejaculated Cyntliia, savagely, enraged at 
the thought that, though she held this girl’s body, 
she could not dominate her soul. “Drink, will you?” 

Aileen’s great, blue eyes met the flashing, threaten 
ing, black ones with calm defiance. 

“Never!” 

The Panther sprang forward, and, in an access of 
fury, grasped her by the wrist, sending the wine 
flying in a golden shower. 

“What!” she breathed from behind her clinched 
teeth. “You shall! You must! Leave this to me, ” 
waving the others back, as they crowded forward. 
“You’ll have to do it! My temper’s up! You under- 
stand! Come, I’ll give you one more chance ! Now, 
health and prosperity to us all!” 

But Aileen’s glance never faltered. With her eyes 
still fixed upon the countenance of the Panther, in- 
furiated and distorted with passion as it was, she an- 
swered, with calm deliberation : 

“I’ll die first!” 

As she spoke she flung the glass from her, and it 
shivered into a thousand pieces upon the floor. 

Cynthia started forward, her hands clinched as if 
to clutch the white throat of this girl who dared to 
defy her. 

But, with a powerful effort, she restrained herself, 
and said, in a voice terrible in its suggestion of sup- 
pressed savagery : 


207 


THE PANTHER'S BIRTHDAY. 

“Be careful ! You are in a strange company. Do 
you not tremble for your good self?” 

“No! Why should I? I dread you, I loathe you, 
I pity you, but,” bravely, “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“Bravo!” cried Beatrice, with an irrepressible im- 
pulse of admiration. 

“Don’t you interfere!” ejaculated the Panther, 
turning frenziedly upon her. 

Beatrice, dismayed, shrank back. 

Then, with a shrug of her shoulders, in a careless- 
ness far more assumed than real, she hummed a tune 
from one of the comic operas then in vogue. 

“Now for the last time,” said Cynthia, to the girl, 
who, pale but determined, faced her without flinch- 
ing. “Have you changed your mind?” 

“No!” flinging back her head proudly. “Nothing 
will ever change it!” 

“We shall see!” retorted the Panther, grimly. 

Then she turned to her friends, who had been 
listening to this war of words with fascinated atten- 
tion. 

“Give me a glass !” 

A dozen were extended to her. 

She took one and advanced toward Aileen threaten- 
itigly. 

“Now !” 

“Keep back!” cried the girl, all her blood on fire 


206 THE PANTHER’S BIRTHDAY. 

and resolved never to yield. “Keep away from me! 

Don’t dare to touch me!” 

Maddened by this resistance, the Panther darted 
toward her, with eyes aflame. 

Scarce knowing what she did, but with the in- 
stinct of self-preservation strong upon her, Aileen 
snatched a dagger from among the presents displayed 
on the table near her. 

“Stand back!” she cried. 

The tableau was a vivid one. 

The young girl with the knife poised threateningly 
in her hand, and the woman, magnificent in her 
brocades and jewels cowering before her. 

About them a murmur of voices rose and fell. 

But still the girl stood there on the defensive, and 
the Panther faced her, half intimidated, half furious. 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 


209 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 

But, even when the game was in her own hands, 
Aileen flung away the knife with a shudder. 

“Oh, no, no, no!” she cried, with a sudden revul- 
sion of feeling. “I didn’t mean that, but you drove 
me, you forced me to it. I’m sorry, very sorry. 
Now,” moving toward the door, “let me leave this 
place !” 

But the Panther sprang before her, barring her 
exit. She had no intention of allowing her victim to 
escape so easily. 

“Oh, dear, no!” she exclaimed, her lips curled in 
a cynical smile. 

“Why not?” demanded Aileen, indignantly, now 
thoroughly recovered from her first alarm, and deter- 
mined to fight the matter out to the bitter end, even 
though the chances were against her fifty to one. 
“Why do you dare detain me? Let me go!” 

“No!” replied the Panther, with arms outstretched 
to bar any egress. 

“You must!” 

Cynthia burst into satirical laughter. She was the 
mistress of the situation, and she knew it. 


210 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 


“Oh, must! Ha! ha! ha! Not a bit of it !” 

Then Beatrice, who had been listening to the con- 
versation with a longing to relieve the poor girl from 
the torture she knew she was undergoing, stepped 
forward. 

“Come! come!” she said to Cynthia. “You are 
spoiling everything. L,et the girl go!” 

“I won’t !” replied the Panther, emphatically. 
“And,” turning upon the assembled company with a 
flash in her eyes that defied them to question the 
truth of her words, “and I’ll tell you why! That 
pale-faced, innocent, trembling creature,” flinging 
out her arm with a contemptuous gesture toward 
Aileen, “stole from me the man I loved, the man 
who loved me !” 

“Oh!” went up the chorus from the assembled 
women, in a threatening murmur. 

In their eyes this was the unforgivable sin. 

“That is not true!” cried Aileen, understanding 
what she was accused of and revolted. 

“Yes, it is!” asseverated the Panther. “Was it not 
through you that he was shot?” 

“Indeed, no, no!” 

“I say yes! for it was to spare your sickly blushes 
that Tom Chichester came between his brother and 
myself!” 

The name of Tom restored Aileen to herself and 
gave her back the courage she so sadly needed. 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 


211 


u He tried to save him from you, ” she declared, 
facing bravely the woman in whose power she felt 
she was. 

The others were listening in breathless silence, 
almost as if this were a scene upon the stage in 
which they had no part, but in which they were 
deeply interested. 

The actors were this slender, dark-robed figure 
and the superb Panther. 

Which would be the victor? 

Cynthia moved a step forward, half resolved to use 
physical force and so establish her supremacy at once. 

But, with compressed lips and glowing eyes, she 
restrained herself, resolving to use a weapon quite as 
deadly, though not so brutal. 

“To save him, yes!” she retorted. “How? By 
what means? I’ll tell you! He tried to save him by 
killing him !” 

A cry of horror and repulsion broke from Aileen’s 
pale lips. 

“What! You dare accuse him of being a mur- 
derer !” 

“Yes!” replied the Panther, stamping her foot 
viciously, “and it is the truth!” 

She had reached a point when she cared but little 
what she said. Her one idea was, by fair means or 
foul to crush the heart of this girl who dared to defy 
her. 


212 WOMAN A GAINS'!’ WOMAN. 

But this was not such an easy matter to do. 
Aileen’s spirit — and when it came to the point, she 
was far from being- deficient in bravery — was aroused. 

‘Then the man who loved you,” she said, in 
clear, tense tones, “died with a lie upon his lips!” 

“He did,” returned Cynthia, knowing that she 
was speaking a lie, and yet caring nothing, so that 
she could conquer. 

“And I say he did not!” 

Aileen’s figure was drawn up to its full extent, 
and her blue eyes were ablaze with indignation. All 
fear was vanished. For herself she cared nothing, 
but for her lover’s good name she cared much, 
enough to brave any danger. 

“He spoke the truth!” she went on, boldly. 
“Tom Chichester never sent his brother to death, 
but,” extending her arm with the gesture of an ac- 
cusing goddess, and pointing straight at the Panther, 
“but you did !” 

In spite of all her superb aplomb, Cynthia was 
staggered at this direct accusation. 

“I! I!” she faltered. “What do you mean?” 

“This! that, though your hand may not have 
taken his life, you are morally his murderess!” 

At this the women, who had been listening with 
breathless attention, started forward with threatening 
murmurs. An accusation against their acknowledged 
leader was an accusation against them all. And, 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 


213 


moreover, many of them were indebted to Cynthia, 
and many more of them hoped to be. It was the 
gratitude for favors to come which impelled them to 
stand by her, and this, a cynical, clever writer has 
declared, is the only genuine gratitude which exists. 

It was a strange scene. The pure, sweet-faced girl 
who had known no evil, standing in the midst of 
these superbly dressed, bejeweled women who knew 
so well all that can be offered by “the world, the 
flesh, and the devil.” 

But Cynthia, who, in her indomitable pride, felt 
herself able to cope with any contingency that might 
arise, without outside help, turned with a command- 
ing gesture to her friends. 

“Silence!” she ordered, and the women fell back. 
And then turning toward Aileen, she repeated, with 
redoubled force: “Silence!” 

But for once she had met her match. 

“No!” cried Aileen, determined to defend the man 
she loved — and there is no courage equal to that of 
the woman who loves. “No! I will speak! I’m de- 
fending an innocent man from a wicked charge! 
And nothing can frighten me!” She paused a mo- 
ment, and then went on, addressing Cynthia, who 
was speechless and trembling with rage. “When you 
met Harry Chichester, he was a boy with the world 
before him ; he was weak, but he was not corrupted. 
Your mercenary hands took hold of him, and molded 


214 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 


him to what you wished. You ruined him, you drove 
him to sin, to a crime, for which another suffered. 
When you wrecked his life, and he was sinking, a 
brave man tried to rescue him, but he was too late, 
and you dragged him down ! ’ ’ 

She stopped and looked about at the faces of the 
women who surrounded her. Young as she was, 
Aileen knew something of the wickedness of this 
world. Hers was not the purity of ignorance, which 
is often without safeguards, but the purity of the 
woman who knows the pitfalls of this world and how 
to avoid them. She understood clearly the character 
of the women about her, and with an .irresistible im- 
pulse she addressed them. 

“ Not only has she done this, but all of you are 
doing it day by day. The past is past,” her voice 
trembling with eagerness and divine pity, “but there 
is still time to break the ties that bind you to it. 
Then, stop, stop! before it is too late! Oh, women, 
women, think of your lives, and for God’s sake, 
think of your deaths!” 

She paused. Some of her hearers had buried their 
faces in their hands and were weeping silently. 
Others glared at her, angry, sullen, and threaten- 
ing. 

“You have courage, little one, ” murmured Bea- 
trice Moreland, suppressing a sob. 

The Panther caught the words. She was not one 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 


215 


of those who were moved by Aileen ’s impassioned 
appeal. 

“Has she?” she cried, her scarlet lips curling in a 
sneering smile. “Has she? I’ll test it, then!” 

She advanced toward the girl, who, with her hands 
pressed to her bosom, was panting and breathless. 

“I’ve some news for you !” she announced, with a 
savage intensity. “The murderer of Harry Chichester 
is known. The proofs have been found, and the 
warrant is out for his arrest!” 

The effect of these words was all that Cynthia, 
who was watching with gloating expectation, could 
have wished. 

Aileen turned pale as death. 

“Arrest!” she gasped. “Tell me! Who is it?” 

Believing that she held now the reins of victory in 
her hands, the Panther smiled derisively. 

“As if you didn’t know!” she replied, scornfully. 
“Why, your lover, of course.” 

With a low moan, Aileen staggered back, almost 
falling. 

Beatrice, her kind heart filled with pity, started 
toward her, but the Panther, not to be balked of the 
enjoyment of the pain she was inflicting, sprang be- 
tween. 

“Ah!” she exclaimed, with a cruel, triumphant 
laugh. “I’ve brought you to your knees at last! The 
tears are scalding, are they not? Wait! They will 


216 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 


be bitterer still — when he is punished for his crime!” 

Aileen dashed away her tears. 

“That he will never be!” she cried, with the cour- 
age of conviction. “He is innocent, as innocent of 
this as he was of the forgery you forced his brother 
to ” 

The Panther, her face convulsed with passion, 
made a movement as if she would spring upon her. 

“What!” she interrupted, from between her 
clinched teeth, controlling with a powerful effort the 
desire to rend with her nails the face of this girl who 
dared to defy her, and whom her distorted imagina- 
tion held to be the prime factor of all 'her troubles. 
“What! You malign the dead, do you?” 

Aileen flung up her head and met the blazing eyes 
of her accuser with a fearless glance. 

“No!” she replied, proudly. “No! I defend the 
living!” 

The Panther answered her with the slow, hard 
mockery of joyless laughter. 

Aileen stood erect facing her. Her eyes were 
dilated with loathing and fear. 

“Yes,” said Cynthia, at last, with suppressed pas- 
sion, “you take up the cudgels for this man, my 
enemy, and the blows you deal me are too heavy for 
my endurance. ’ ’ 

Aileen was now quite herself again. The blood 
rushed to her face in a bright flood. Her whole form 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 217 

grew instinct with strength and pride, which was, 
however, destined, alas! to be but short-lived. 

“But ■” she began. 

“Silence!” interrupted Cynthia, her eyes glitter- 
ing with a still more sinister and savage meaning 
from under the heavy, black-fringed lids. “Silence! 
And hear me out ! I hate you ! Have always hated 
you ! But I do not blame you in this ! You fight for 
the love you have, but I, also — I shall fight for the 
love I have lost!” In the intensity of her feeling she 
struck her hand heavily upon the table, making the 
presents dance. “What, will you do for that love? 
Tell me, will you risk your life for it? I will vnne /” 

As she spoke, mad with ungovernable passion, 
she snatched up, with a stifled cry, the pistols with 
which Beatrice had presented her. 

“See! see!” she cried. “Here are the means! We 
will decide this as men decide their quarrels. Take 
one! They are loaded! Take one, I say, take one!” 

She tried to force one of the pistols into Aileen’s 
hand, but the latter, now thoroughly frightened, 
shrank back in dismay. All her new-born courage 
deserted her. Her face grew suddenly white as death. 
A sickly feeling of faintness overpowered her, and 
she pressed one hand to her heart unconsciously. 

“No! no!” she faltered, through ashen lips. “You 
are wicked 1” 

But all the worst side of the Panther’s nature was 


218 WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 

roused. Slie was longing for vengeance, and she was 

not to be balked of its satisfaction. 

“You won’t! Coward!” she hissed. 

And then, beside herself, she rushed forward, with 
hand upraised, as if to strike the object of her rage 
and hatred. 

But, quick as an arrow from the bow, a woman’s 
form darted between, and catching the threatening 
hand in a nervous grasp, flung it violently backward. 

“Don’t dare to touch her!” rang out a shrill voice, 
as Beatrice Moreland, all her better instincts to the 
fore, faced unflinchingly the savage woman. 

The others bent forward, intent upon the exciting 
scene before them. 

None paid any attention to Aileen, who, her over- 
wrought nerves giving way, staggered and fell back 
in an unconscious condition upon the sofa, which 
chanced to be just behind her and so broke her 
fall. 

For an instant the Panther was dumfounded by 
this unexpected intervention. 

“ You ! you ! ’ ’ she gasped. 

But Beatrice, with a jeering laugh, fearlessly held 
her ground. 

“Yes, I!” she returned, in clear, ringing tones. 
“You want revenge for your dead one, eh? Well, 
you shall have it. Not from her! But from me!” 

“From you?” 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 219 

“Yes! Don’t I speak plainly? Give me one of 
those !” 

She pointed suddenly at the pistols, which the 
Panther still held in her grasp, while the women 
who were witnesses of the scene held their breath in 
suspense. 

Cynthia, with more amazement than anything else 
upon her face, involuntarily drew away the weapons. 

“First ” 

“Ask me no questions!” interrupted Beatrice, 
fiercely, flushed with wine and indignation. “I will 
not tell you my reasons ! They are in my heart ! 
Give me one, Isay!” And, with a sudden, quick 
movement, she wrenched one of the pistols from 
Cynthia’s grasp. “Ah !” with a cry of exultation and 
a swift wave of her hand toward Aileen’s unconscious 
form, “you wanted to kill this child! Well, I take 
her place. Kill me if you can!” 

The other guests were now thoroughly frightened. 
Some of them began to wring their hands, sobbing 
and shrieking impotently, while others, more clear- 
headed, started forward to prevent the impending 
tragedy. 

One of them caught from behind the hand of Bea- 
trice which held the pistol. 

Beatrice, feeling the grasp, gave her arm a wrench 
to free herself. 

As she did so the pistol exploded. 


220 WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 

The Panther uttered a loud cry and fell forward 
upon her face. 

Seeing what had happened, Beatrice, shocked into 
soberness, stood panic-stricken. 

From the others shrieks and screams of horror rent 
the air, mingled with incoherent exclamations. 

‘‘Let’s get away!” 

“The police will be here!” 

“Quick! quick!” 

The yellow-haired girl and one or two of the others 
who were least overcome by the prevalent mad alarm, 
seized Beatrice, who was standing like a statue with 
her eyes fixed in a glassy stare upon the prostrate 
form of the woman she had accidentally wounded, 
perhaps killed. 

‘ ‘ Come away, Beatrice ! Come away ! Save your- 
self. Quick!” 

“What have I done? What have I done?” was the 
moaning response. 

“Come, will you?” 

“She is dead! She is dead!” 

At this moment a distant police whistle was heard. 
The cries of the women had undoubtedly alarmed the 
watchman on his beat. 

Instantly there was a general stampede for the 
doors. It was each one for herself. 

The yellow-haired girl by main force dragged Bea- 
trice away. 


WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. 221 

The two unconscious women were left alone in the 
scene of the recent revels. 

In the frantic retreat a large standing lamp had 
been overturned, and the burning oil was stealing 
across the floor toward some lace draperies that vailed 
one of the windows. 

Unless help were soon forthcoming, the villa and 
its helpless inmates were doomed to destruction. 

Suddenly Aileen moved and opened her eyes. 
With an effort, she raised herself to a sitting posture 
and gazed about her in a dazed way, not realizing at 
first where she was. 

Then a remembrance of all that had happened to 
her flashed back upon her, and with a weak cry, she 
rose to her feet. 

Meanwhile the flames had caught the curtains and 
were already licking the frame-work. One tiny thread 
of fire was stealing across the floor toward the long 
train of the Panther, who lay there face downward. 

A choking, deadly smoke was rapidly filling the 
room. 

Aileen staggered to her feet, and then, as with her 
returning senses, she understood the condition of 
affairs, she screamed aloud a wild appeal for help. 

The place was in flames ! She was lost ! 

But no! Just at that moment there was a ringing 
cheer from the balcony. The windows were dashed 
inward, and Aileen heard a voice exclaiming, “My 


222 


WOMAN ‘AGAINST WOMAN. 


darling! my darling!” and felt a pair of strong arms 
encircling her. 

Then consciousness left her, and she knew no 
more. 






ATONEMENT. 


223 


CHAPTER XV. 

ATONEMENT. 

It was late in the afternoon, about six weeks after 
the events narrated in the last chapter. 

The sun was sinking behind the roofs of London 
and poured its golden radiance into a plainly but 
comfortably furnished room in the third story of a 
private hospital near Waterloo Bridge. 

Before one of the windows, in a low chair, propped 
up with pillows, reclined Cynthia Dell, but sadly 
changed from the gorgeous Panther of a few weeks 
before. Her face was thin, pale, and haggard, and 
marked with more than one ugly scar. 

While Aileen had been rescued unharmed, though 
in the very nick of time, from the fire which had 
destroyed the villa at Highgate, Cynthia had been 
less fortunate. The flames had already reached her 
when the firemen managed to bear her fainting form 
from the burning room, and she was badly, though 
not fatally, injured. 

To-day she was sitting up for the first time, and 
the doctors had pronounced her out of danger, al- 
though she would probably never be again the vigor- 


224 


ATONEMENT, 


ous woman of the past, and her beauty was ruined 
forever. 

During all her illness she had been faithfully at- 
tended by her maid, Rose, and another, Aileen 
Millar, with divine forgiveness, had come to help 
nurse and care for the woman who had been her 
bitterest enemy. 

Aileen had much trouble and anxiety of her own to 
bear in those days. 

After the fire, and when he was assured of his 
sweetheart’s safety and that no lives had been lost, 
Tom Chichester had kept his word to Inspector 
Clarkson and accompanied that official to prison. 

After the bravery displayed by Tom, the inspector 
had more doubts than ever as to the young man’s 
guilt, but, in view of the evidence his duty was clear, 
and, in spite of himself, he was obliged to commit 
him on the charge of having murdered his brother. 

The trial was now close at hand. Gillespie Flet- 
cher, who had been engaged as Toni’s chief counsel, 
had thrown himself heart and soul into the case, and 
Clarkson had given him every aid in his power. 

But the fact still remained that the outlook was 
very black for poor Tom ; the evidence was clearly 
against him. 

The one witness from whom much had been hoped 
apparently had nothing to testify. 

Fretly Burnsides had been rescued from the burn- 


ATONEMENT. 


225 


in g house, and rescued, moreover, by Tom himself. 
But, when questioned by Fletcher and Clarkson, he 
declared that he knew nothing whatever of the 
crime, and was out of his head when he wrote that 
note to Tom. In spite of every influence brought to 
bear upon him, he rigidly and obstinately adhered to 
this statement. 

It was not strange that the hearts of the prisoner’s 
relatives and friends grew cold within them at the 
thought of the possible outcome of the trial. 

All this Cynthia Dell knew, and had been thinking 
of as she lay back there in front of the window. 

Suddenly she moved, as if shaking off some un- 
pleasant and besieging thought, and called, faintly : 

“Rose!” 

The maid, who had been busy at the other side of 
the room, came hastily forward. 

“Yes, madame. ” 

“Miss Millar has not come yet?” 

“No, madame. She said this morning, however, 
that she would be back again before evening. ’ ’ 

“What an angel she is! Rose, you sent that tele- 
gram?” 

“Yes, more than an hour ago.” 

An expression of relief passed over Cynthia’s 
scarred face. 

“That’s all. Leave me, Rose. I want to be alone. ” 

As the door closed behind the maid, Cynthia pain- 


226 


ATONEMENT. 


fully rose to her feet and leaned against the side of 
the window. 

The light of the setting sun fell full upon the 
golden cross which stands, a sign of mercy, on the 
dome of St. Paul’s. 

For a brief moment Cynthia smiled, and then she 
shivered, and, as if blinded by the glory, hurriedly 
pulled the curtains in front of the window. 

Her effort brought on a fit of coughing. Weak and 
exhausted, she leaned back against the wall, just as 
the door opened and a woman entered the room. 

She hurried toward Cynthia and gently and tender- 
ly helped her to her chair. 

Cynthia looked up with a faint smile. 

“Ah, Beatrice, is it you?” 

The last few weeks had wrought a change in Bea- 
trice Moreland as well. Her flashy attire was gone, 
to be replaced by garments of sober hue and make ; 
and her face was guiltless of rouge and powder. 

“Are you no better?” she asked, anxiously, lean- 
ing over the invalid. 

“Yes, a little. ” 

“How,” nervously, “how is the wound?” 

“The one you gave me?” 

Beatrice winced, but in an instant Cynthia touched 
her kindly on the arm to show that the speech had 
not been intended to give pain. 

“By accident, of course! Oh, that is well, quite 


ATONEMENT. 


227 


well. But the other, the one here,” placing her 
hand upon her heart, “nothing can cure.” 

‘ 1 How good of you to say it was an accident ! ” re- 
plied Beatrice, with genuine gratitude. 

“Bah! my dear,” retorted the Panther, with a 
dash of her old fire. “Think of the nuisance of the 
police court!” 

“It was good of yon, nevertheless.” 

Cynthia raised her eyes, those eyes which were still 
as magnificent as ever, and gave her companion one 
keen, scrutinizing look. 

“Beatrice,” she said, slowly, “come closer. I have 
something to say to you. ’ ’ 

Beatrice knelt down by her side. 

‘ ‘ I am going to die ! ’ v 

“Cynthia! No! you are better!” 

“Hush! Better or not, lam going to die!” ^as 
the answer, in a tone that filled her listener with 
vague horror and foreboding. “What is there to live 
for now? The only one I love is dead, and I am for- 
gotten. My beauty is gone, my worshipers have 
deserted me, and another sits upon my throne.” 

“And all through me!” said Beatrice, sobbing. 
“I wish I could make amends.” 

“You can!” ejaculated Cynthia, with sudden de- 
termination. 

She raised herself slowly to her feet and dragged 


228 


ATONEMENT. 


herself across the room to a table containing writing 
materials. 

For a moment she supported herself against it, and 
then, opening a drawer, she took out a paper. 

t ‘ I want you to be a witness to this, ’ ’ she said to 
Beatrice, who had followed her wonderingly. “It is 
a confession of a crime for which another may suffer. ’ ’ 

“What!” 

“Hush! Say nothing, whatever you may suspect. 
See, I sign it in your presence. Now you.” 

Beatrice had turned very white, guessing as she 
had a portion of the truth, but she took the pen ex- 
tended to her, and, with a trembling hand, appended 
her signature. 

There was a strange look upon Cynthia’s face, a 
look of mingled pain and relief, as she folded the 
paper and placed it in the bosom of her lace-trimmed 
wrapper. 

“Thank you!” she said, with a heavy sigh. And 
then, with a quick transition, she added, with a sort 
of feverish gayety: “Ah, Beatrice, we have done 
one good deed at last. Ha! ha! We who have done 
so many guilty. And now, my friend, leave me to 
myself. No, stay a moment. ” 

She took a small jewel-case from the table and 
offered it to her companion. 

“Take this. There are still a few jewels left.” 

But Beatrice waved away the box. 


ATONEMENT. 


229 


“No! no!” she declared, with peremptory decision. 
“I’ll not touch them, Cynthia!” 

The matter was not pressed. 

“As you will,” replied Cynthia, indifferently, re- 
placing the box and sinking down wearily upon a 
couch which stood near. “Good-by, Beatrice.” 

“Good-by, Cynthia,” her eyes filling with tears. 
“ I am going away. I lead a life like my past no 
longer. The sin of London stifles me, and I long for 
a sight of the flowers. To-morrow I start for Devon 
to see if my mother is still alive. When you are 
better, for you will not die,” with a confidence she 
did not inwardly feel, “write and say you’ll come to 
me. We’ll be so happy together !” 

“It is very good of you,” replied Cynthia, gently, 
almost affectionately. “I hope you will find your 
mother. But — we shall never meet again. Good-by. ’ ’ 

1 ‘ Good-by ! I am forgiven ?” 

“Yes! yes!” 

Beatrice stooped over and kissed the poor, white 
face. Then, with a choking at her throat and a mist 
before her eyes, she hurried from the room. 

The Panther — although it seems unkind to call 
her the Panther now, so softened had she become — 
lay back upon the lounge for a time, staring at the 
firelight. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she drew 
a ring from her finger. It was a ring that had been 


230 


ATONEMENT. 


given her long ago by an admirer, who had purchased 
it in Florence. 

She pressed a tiny spring, and the jewel which was 
the ring’s chief ornament flew back. 

“How sweet it smells!” she thought to herself, as 
she raised it to her nostrils. “Hike the almond trees 
in spring!” 

Then, shuddering, she closed the ring with a snap. 
No! The time, although approaching, had not yet 
come. The cry for justice which arose from the grave 
which she and others had dug, had yet to be an- 
swered. The blame was hers. Well, she had taken 
all the blame. She had told all, and yet, no, not 
quite all. She had spared Gridston. It was she who 
had prompted him, it was she who was guilty. 

She threw up her arms with a wild, appealing ges- 
ture. 

“Heaven knows my punishment!” she murmured, 
aloud. “My remorse has been a heavy one. Thank 
Heaven, it will soon be over!” 

She put the ring back upon her finger, as the door 
opened and Rose appeared. 

“He is here, madame!” 

Cynthia uttered a slight cry and sank back, half 
fainting, upon the cushions. 

“Give me some drink, Rose! Brandy!” 

Rose obeyed. 

The stimulant roused her mistress and gave her the 


ATONEMENT. 


231 


strength and courage she knew she would need in the 
forthcoming interview. 

“Bring him here!” 

In another moment the wronged husband and the 
erring wife were face to face. 

Burnsides came close to the couch, and Cynthia 
raised herself upon her elbow. 

For a moment they looked fixedly at each other. 
The man’s gaze, which at first had been stern and 
hard, gradually relaxed. 

Then Cynthia spoke. 

“It was kind of you to come,” she murmured. 

“You sent for me,” replied Burnsides, in a hol- 
low voice. “It was my duty. ” 

Cynthia threw her head back upon the cushions 
and laughed hysterically. She was not so strong, 
either mentally or physically, as she had been. 

“Ha! ha! ha! Do we always do our duty, we 
two?” 

Burnsides came a step nearer. The change in his 
wife affected him powerfully. He half stretched forth 
his arms, but his dry lips and parched tongue refused 
him utterance. 

Gradually the Panther’s unnatural merriment 
died away. 

“How were you saved that dreadful night?” she 
asked. 


232 


ATONEMENT. 


With a mighty effort, Burnsides replied, with diffi- 
culty : 

“Through Tom Chichester. He knew I was a 
prisoner in the house, and he rescued me at the risk 
of his life. ’ ’ 

Cynthia shivered. He, Tom Chichester, had saved 
the lives of both, she the wife, he the husband. 
Verily, truth was stranger than fiction. 

But — atonement was to come. 

“He is to be tried to-morrow, is he not?” she 
asked, forcing herself to be calm. 

“Yes, to-morrow. ” 

“And — will they find him guilty?” 

Burnsides fixed his burning eyes upon her. He 
thought he knew the truth. 

“The evidence is heavy against him,” he replied, 
slowly. “I fear he will be condemned.” 

Cynthia started, her cheeks flushing and her eyes 
on fire. 

“He shall not be condemned!” she cried. 

“Cynthia!” gasped Burnsides, in terrible alarm, 
confident that he understood. 

“I tell you, he must be saved!” with an intensity 
and strength born of an inward determination which 
dominated her physical weakness. 

“What!” 

Cynthia rose from the couch, and with an uncon- 


ATONEMENT. 


233 


scious but powerful effort of will, drew her figure up 
to its full height. 

“And you must do it!” 

Burnsides started back. 

“You forget, Cynthia. I am your husband. My 
lips are sealed !” 

For an instant she stared at him, and then a reali- 
zation of what he meant overpowering her, she tot- 
tered toward him. 

“My God ! You believe what I told you!” 

He caught her in his arms and drew her tenderly 
toward him. 

‘ ‘ I not only believe, but I know. ’ * 

“What!” 

‘ 1 L saw everything. ’ > 

“You ” 

“I was not so injured as you thought. I was try- 
ing to leave by the balcony, when I saw you and 
Gridston there. I watched and was a witness to it 
all.” 

Cynthia wrenched herself from his arms. 

“And you kept silent for my sake?” 

. “Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” in a choking voice, “because I loved 
my wife. ” 

If he had but known it, his wife was never so near 
loving him as she was then. 


234 


ATONEMENT. 


“Besides,” he went on, “the man who died had 
done me a deadly wrong. It was he,” with concen- 
trated bitterness, “who brought this crime upon you, 
and he deserved his fate.” 

But at this, Cynthia thrust forth her hands in 
negation, with a cry of horrified denial. 

“No! no! no! You are wrong. We loved each 
other. No more! Harry Chichester was not to 
blame! I swear it!” 

There was an accent of truth in her voice which 
forced Burnsides to believe her. And yet, if not 
Harry Chichester, who was it? 

“That is why I wanted you to come, ’’went on 
Cynthia, feverishly, her excitement lending her a 
false strength. “You sent a letter to Tom Chichester 
by Amos, the valet — oh, don’t deny it; Rose has told 
me all — a letter saying that you knew the murderer 
of his brother?” 

“Yes,” assented Burnsides, after a pause. 

He was bewildered, and yet he longed to know the 
truth. 

“Why?” asked Cynthia. 

‘ ‘ Because it was my only way to escape ! But, ’ ’ 
with immense emphasis, “I should never have 
spoken! I never have! I never will!” 

“You must! To-morrow you must tell every- 
thing!” 

“You forget ” 


ATONEMENT. 


235 


“Nothing!” she interrupted, imperiously. “To- 
morrow you will Have no wife!” 

Burnsides started. With quivering lips he at- 
tempted to speak, but his wife checked him with a 
gesture. 

“It is true! That wound, you know, I feel it 
now, always!” 

With a weakness, half assumed, half real, she sank 
down upon the couch. 

“Let me get help!” exclaimed Burnsides, in alarm. 

“No! no!” she answered, thrusting her hand in 
her bosom and drawing forth the paper which she 
and Beatrice had both signed. “Here is the confes- 
sion of everything. To-morrow you will carry it to 
the court and save him. Take it! Take it!” Burn- 
sides took the paper. “But remember, you are not 
to use it until to-morrow. You are to say nothing 
until I am at rest! Promise me!” 

“I promise. ” 

With a deep sigh, Cynthia sank back, her fictitious 
strength exhausted. 

“You’ll keep your word, I know,” she murmured, 
faintly. “And, Fretly, before you go, can you for- 
give me for the shame I have brought upon you, for 
the life I have spoiled?” 

Surely never before had the haughty Panther 
spoken in so humble, so appealing a tone. 


236 


ATONEMENT. 


Burnsides leaned over her, all his unconquerable 
love for her welling up in his heart. 

“I love my wife, ” he said, w T ith infinite, uncon- 
scious pathos. “Is that enough?” 

A suspicious moisture gathered in the Panther’s 
eyes. She raised her arms and drew his head down 
upon her breast. 

In that moment all was forgiven. 

******** 

“May I come in?” 

Cynthia raised her head. 

Her husband had been gone now some quarter of 
an hour. She had sent him away from her, promising 
that he should see her to-morrow. 

But to-morrow, would she see him ? 

Ah ! of that she had said nothing. 

It was Aileen Millar who had asked permission to 
enter. 

Without waiting for any answer, the young girl 
crossed the room and knelt down by Cynthia’s side. 

“Are you better to-night?” she asked,, gently. 

“Better than I have ever been,” was the reply, the 
great dark eyes bent yearningly, even tenderly, upon 
the sweet face before them, “since you saved my life 
by your nursing. ’ ’ 

“Don’t speak of that!” 

“I must. Believe me, I am not ungrateful, as you 
will find?” 


ATONEMENT. 


237 


u As I shall find?” repeated Aileen, struck by the 
significance of the tone in which the words were 
spoken. 

u Yes. Miss Millar, in the cottage where I was 
born, over my little cot, my mother once placed the 
text, ‘Wait and hope!’ ” 

“ ‘Wait and hope!’ ” echoed Aileen, with an invol- 
untary thrill. 

“Yes. It was good of you to come to-night with 
all your trouble. ’ ’ 

“Oh, don’t speak of that!” her heart contracting 
with the fear that had been ever-present with her 
during all these long, weary weeks. “It is awful to 
think of only a few hours more and it will be life or 
death for the man I love. ’ ’ 

Cynthia half raised herself and, stretching forth 
her hand, laid it encouragingly upon the head of the 
girl kneeling beside her couch. 

“Hope !” she cried. 

“Ah!” with a moan. “They tell me there is 
none. ’ ’ 

There was silence for a moment, and then Cynthia 
said, in a voice trembling with emotion, longing to 
cheer the poor girl, and yet not daring to say all that 
she might : 

“There is always Hope — even for me, perhaps, per- 
haps. But, listen. I am ill, very ill. All your good- 


238 


ATONEMENT. 


ness and nursing cannot save me. But you will be 
rewarded for it. ” 

She bent forward and reverently touched her sin- 
stained lips to the girl’s pure forehead; and a tear 
rolled down her cheek and rested like a diamond 
upon Aileen’s bright hair. 

In that moment Cynthia Dell, the Panther, was 
nearer being genuine and true than she had ever been 
in her life. 

“There!” sinking back again, and feebly motion- 
ing Aileen away, as if, even in that supreme moment, 
as she knew it to be, a little ashamed of her weak- 
ness. “There! I am tired!” 

“Shall I light the lamp?” asked Aileen, rising. 

“No! I want to sleep! To sleep!” she repeated, 
with an odd, pathetic wistfulness. “But if you 
would, sing what you sang to me yesterday. Good- 
night! Good-by! Don’t wake me. Remember, wait, 
and hope!” 

Aileen went over in the gloaming fo a cottage 
piano which stood in one of the corners of the room, 
and shortly her sweet voice was raised in one of the 
loveliest of all melodies, “The Land o’ the Leal!” 

Cynthia listened for a moment, with a peculiar 
smile. Then, she touched the spring of the ring. 

“God forgive me all my sins!” she murmured, 
almost inaudibly. 


ATONEMENT. 


239 


Then, with a firm hand, she raised the ring to her 
lips. 

Softly the voice of the singer went on, but the soul 
of Cynthia Dell had passed to the judgment seat of 
Him who once forgave her, whose name of Magdalen 
has since become that of all her erring sisters. 


240 


WAITING FOll THE VERDICT. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

WAITING FOR THE VERDICT. 

The trial of Thomas Chichester for the murder of 
his brother was nearly over. 

For two days it had dragged along its slow length, 
days of unspeakable torture to those whose future 
happiness depended upon the verdict to be given by 
“those twelve good men and true.” 

And yet, although for very different reasons, per- 
haps among all of the spectators of the trial of this 
case, none was more deeply interested than the man 
who styled himself “Captain” Gridston. 

This was quite natural. Why should not the man 
of all others who was most conversant with the true 
state of affairs, the man who had most reason to be 
afraid of his neck, watch the progress of the case 
with the most intense attention? Tom Chichester 
condemned, he was safe ; Tom Chichester acquitted, 
and the police again would be on the track of the 
murderer. 

And, there were at least two, perhaps three, who 
knew who the real criminal was. 

Gridston had been to the hospital several times to 


WAITING FOR THE VERDICT. 241 

see Cynthia, but the latter had invariably refused to 
see him, an incident which was calculated to increase 
rather than lessen his agitation. 

Treacher, too, was a man that he had good reason 
to fear, but Treacher could be bought. 

The first day of the trial the testimony was all 
against the prisoner, and Gridston was corresponding- 
ly elated. 

But the second day things seemed to be changed. 
There was much which was in favor of Chichester, 
and Gridston, unable to remain longer, left the court- 
room, to wander aimlessly about the gardens of St. 
Paul’s Cathedral, which were close at hand. 

For once his nerve was gone. There was some- 
thing wrong, what he did not know, and the anxiety 
was terrible. 

He walked back and forth, back and forth, not 
knowing what to expect. He had left Treacher in 
the court-room, telling him to come to him at once, 
if any startling development should occur in the pro- 
gress of the trial. 

At last, after an hour or two, although it seemed 
years to the man who was waiting in an agony of 
suspense, the lawyer appeared. 

“Thank goodness I’ve found you!” exclaimed 
Treacher hurrying toward him and clutching Grid- 
ston ’s arm in his excitement. “Get away as soon as 


242 WAITING FOR THE VERDICT. 

you can. You’d better go into the cathedral, for 

they’ll never think of looking for you there.” 

Gridston turned pale as death, and certainly the 
words were sufficient to cause him fright. 

“Why,” he stammered, breathlessly. “What’s the 
matter?” 

“Everything!” replied Treacher, emphatically, 
and Gridston’s heart turned cold with fear. “Burn- 
sides has come to the court with a confession signed 
by his wife and witnessed, telling everything.” 

“Everything!” gasped Gridston, staggering back. 

“I think so. That’s all I can say. The judge, too, 
has received Burnsides’ own statement as evidence. 
Chichester may be set free and a warrant out against 
you in no time.” 

Gridston shook as if stricken by ail attack of palsy. 

“My God!” he ejaculated, in fear and horror. 
“What’s to be done?” 

He was utterly unequal to decide for himself, and 
for once the lawyer, who in this case at least had not 
much to dread, was the stronger man. 

“Do what I tell you ! Get inside the church. I’ll 
let you know the result, and, if the worst comes to 
the worst, I’ll find a way out for you if I can.” 

Gridston tried to pull himself together, but, now 
in the hour of danger, all his inherent cowardice 
came to the fore. He could neither reason nor act. 
All that he could do was to follow the lawyer’s ad- 


WAITING FOK THE VEliDICT. 243 

vice, murmuring, weakly, a result of what he had 
long ago determined upon : 

“If the worst comes to the worst, I know a way 
out of it myself. ’ ’ 

He moved away with a tottering step and disap- 
peared within one of the side doors of the cathedral. 

Treacher shrugged his shoulders. It was not much 
to him, and yet, with the honor which is said to ob- 
tain among thieves, he did not care, if he could do 
anything to prevent it, to see one of his pals brought 
to justice. 

He turned away to return to the court -room, but, 
as he did so, he saw coming toward him certain peo- 
ple, whom he did not care to meet. With a quick 
movement, he darted round the corner of the church 
just as Fletcher, accompanied by Aileen Millar and 
Grade Chichester, came up the flagged pathway. 

The trial was practically ended, and the jury had 
retired to consult upon the verdict. Aileen, whose 
nerves had been terribly shaken, had begged Gillie to 
take her out into the open air during the enforced 
period of waiting. 

The discovery, after she had finished her song that 
afternoon in the hospital, that Cynthia Dell was 
dead, had been a terrible shock, and, immediately on 
top of that, had come the maddening anxiety of 
Tom’s trial. That she had kept up as well as she 
had was a marvel. 


244 WAITING FOR THE VERDICT. 

The trio paused near one of the side entrances of 
St. Paul’s. 

“You must really brace up, both of you,” said 
Gillie, with all the cheerfulness he could assume. To 
the young attorney’s credit, it must be said that he 
had done everything in his power to save his client 
and had made really a brilliant fight. “I sincerely 
think, so far as a lawyer can give his opinion, that 
Tom will be acquitted. ’ ’ 

Aileen raised her beautiful, sad eyes to his face. 

“Whatever happens,” she said, tremulously, but 
earnestly, “I can never thank you enough. No one 
could have pleaded more strongly and brilliantly for 
a brother’s life.” 

Gillie flushed beneath these words of praise. 

“Well — you see ” he stammered, “it’s my first 

brief. I had to do my best, don’t you know! I don’t 
know what they’ll say at my leaving the court. I 
must get back as soon as possible. ’ ’ 

“It was very kind of you to bring me here,” said 
Aileen, with a longing, shuddering glance at the 
gloomy building they had just left. “I couldn’t have 
staid in that terrible place another moment. Oh!” 
clasping her hands passionately together. “To think 
that my darling’s life rests in the hands of those 
men ! ’ ’ 

“It will be all right,” declared Gillie, wfith a con- 
fidence he did not wholly feel. “The old cockalorum 


WAITING FOE THE VERDICT. 


245 


— I beg his pardon — the judge is a brick. No one 
could have summed up more in dear Tom’s favor, 
unless I’d done it myself.” 

His efforts to cheer the anguish -tortured girl, 
however, were in vain. It is doubtful if she even 
heard what he said. Her eyes were fixed upon that 
gray building, whence was to come to her the dictum 
of life or death. 

Gracie gently put her arm about her cousin’s waist. 

“Do go inside, darling,” she murmured, implor- 
ingly, “and we will come to you soon, with good 
news, I verily believe. ’ ’ 

Aileen sighed, and allowed herself to be persuaded. 

“I couldn’t go back to the court,” she said, with 
a sob. “The sight of his poor pale face made my 
heart stand still. Yes,” turning toward the church, 
its open doors ready to receive all those whose hearts 
were heavy laden with sorrow. “Yes, here is His 
house. I’ll go in and pray for him, my Tom. I 
know that our Father in heaven will not desert us 
now. Oh, merciful God! Have pity! Have pity!” 

Her eyes raised to the sky and her lips trembling 
in passionate supplication, she moved away with tot- 
tering steps and disappeared within the cathedral. 

“And she calls herself common clay, ” muttered 
Gillie, his eyes filling with tears. “She is an angel, 
if ever there was one.” 

“Indeed!” ejaculated Gracie, a spasm of jealousy 


246 WAITING FOR l'HE VERDICT. 

seizing her, even in that moment of supreme anxiety. 

“And how about me?” 

“Oh! you! You are two angels,” replied her 
lover, diplomatically. 

A faint smile crossed Gracie’s face. She was en- 
tirely appeased by the compliment, absurd as it was. 

“But tell me, Gillie,” she said, her thoughts re- 
verting again to her brother’s peril. “Tell me the 
truth. Do you think they can convict him?” 

Fletcher hesitated a moment, and then answered, 
truthfully : 

“There’s no telling, dear. A British jury is so 
confoundedly — hem ! — intelligent nowadays, there’s 
no telling what they’d do. For my part, I’d rather 
trust to the old cockalorum. Come, let’s go back.” 

They turned back to the court, and, as they did 
so, Treacher emerged from his concealment and fol- 
lowed them. After all, he reflected, it was well that 
he should be where he would receive the very first 
news of the verdict. 

But just as he was about to turn the corner he 
came face to face with another two of Tom’s friends, 
who, humble as they were, were devoted heart and 
soul to the falsely accused man — Jim Palfrey and his 
little sweetheart, Becky Vetch. 

“Good -day, Mr. Treacher,” said Palfrey, as he 
almost stumbled against the lawyer and with a polite- 
ness so exaggerated that it was scarcely less than an 


WAITING FOR THE VERDICT. # 247 

insult. “I don’t think they’re going to convict him, 
eh?” 

Treacher shrugged his shoulders, and an evil smile 
played about his mouth, a smile which made Becky 
long to fasten her two hands tightly about his neck. 

“It’s hard to say,” he said, slowly. “The law is 
so uncertain. It’s a very sad case. Two jealous 
brothers, angry words, sudden blows, the results 
awful. He is guilty, no doubt!” 

Becky’s eyes flashed. 

“Do you think so?” she cried, angrily. “I don’t! 
And you be careful, or there’ll be another sad case!” 

“Yes,” added Palfrey, advancing in so threatening 
a manner that the attorney was completely cowed. 
“It will be two men this time, too — a cabman and a 
lawyer. Difference of opinion, angry words, lots of 
swearing, sudden blows, awful results ! The collapse 
of the lawyer and the triumph of the cabman !” 

Treacher made no reply. But, evidently consider- 
ing discretion the better part of valor, he turned and 
made off, at a pace too rapid to be consistent with 
dignity. 

Jim Palfrey, his honest face flushed with indigna- 
tion, made a movement as if to follow, but Becky 
caught him by the arm. 

“Let him go, Jim,” she said. “He’s not worth 
minding. Let’s go inside the church, find Miss 
Millar, and cheer her up a bit. ” 


248 


WAITING FOE THE YEEDICT. 


“Better wait, Becky,” replied Jim. “The law is 
so uncertain. Halloa!” suddenly. “Here’s Inspector 
Clarkson ! Wonder what he wants here !” 

The tall form of the police agent, followed by two 
men, who were policemen in plain clothes, came 
toward them with quick, firm step. 

“Halloa, Palfrey!” exclaimed Clarkson, as he 
came within speaking distance. “Seen anything of 
Gridston?” 

The inspector knew all about Palfrey, and was 
confident that he was a man to be trusted, or else he 
would probably not have put this question. 

“No,” replied Jim, “but I’ve seen his creature — 
Treacher, I mean. And when the jackal is hard by, 
the bigger beast can’t be far off. ” 

“And he isn’t, I’m sure,” put in Becky, eagerly. 
“I am almost positive, as we came down the steps of 
the court, that I saw Captain Gridston sneaking into 
the church.” 

“Thank you, my dear.” 

The inspector, motioning his men to follow, moved 
away. 

As soon as he was out of ear-shot, he turned to one 
of them and said, in a sharp, though low tone of 
command. 

“Have all the doors watched ! We won’t take him 
inside! That would be too big an honor!” 


LIGHT AT LAST. 


249 


CHAPTER XVII. 

LIGHT AT LAST. 

The trial was over. 

The jury had given its verdict, a verdict which 
had been almost a foregone conclusion; and Tom 
Chichester, thanks to the tardy awakening of the 
Panther’s conscience and the consequent testimony of 
Fretly Burnsides, was a free man. 

As he left the dock, Gracie flung herself into his 
arms, and Gillie Fletcher, his honest blue eyes 
shining with a suspicious moisture, grasped him 
warmly by the hand. 

But Tom’s glance sought in vain for the one of all 
others who was dearer .to him than all else upon 
earth. Aileen’s sweet face, with the love and trust 
shining in her beautiful eyes, had been his chief sup- 
port and comfort during the long, weary, anxious 
hours of the trial, and now that all was happily 
ended, she was not there to greet him. 

‘‘Where is she?” he asked. 

Gracie understood and answered as well as her 
emotion would permit her. 


250 


LIGHT AT LAST. 


“She has gone into St. Paul’s, there to wait and 
pray. ’ ’ 

“Shall I bring her to you?” asked Gillie. 

“No, no,” replied Tom, quickly. “I will go to 
her.” 

Followed by his sister and Fletcher, he made his 
way out of the crowded court-room, not without diffi- 
culty, however, as there were many who desired to 
congratulate him upon his escape from an unjust ac- 
cusation. 

At last, however, the trio found themselves hurry- 
ing up the broad flagging that led to the side entrance 
of the cathedral. 

At the door stood Inspector Clarkson, who caught 
Tom’s hand in a crushing clasp. The kind-hearted 
police officer was genuinely delighted at the result of 
the trial, for he had formed a strong attachment for 
the young man he had been forced to arrest. 

Tom thanked the inspector, and then motioning 
the others to wait for him, he entered the Cathedral 
alone. 

There was a special service going on, a service for 
the benefit of the various charity schools. There 
were boys in knee-breeches with pewter badges on 
their coats, and little girls in blue and orange with 
quaint little white mob caps and white sleeves cover- 
ing their arms. 


LIGHT AT LAST. 


251 


Tom, as he entered, stood for a moment irresolute, 
his eyes wandering in search of Aileen. 

Coming as he did, however, into the comparatively 
dim light of the sacred place, he could not at first 
distinguish her. But there was a man, lurking be- 
hind the pillars, who saw him with feelings of un- 
mitigated horror and affright. 

This man was Gridston, and, as he recognized Tom, 
he knew at once that the jury must have brought in 
a verdict of “Not guilty,” and that consequently his 
own neck was in danger. 

There was no time to be lost, and at once he glided 
out of the church, only, as he emerged, however, to 
feel the heavy hand of Inspector Clarkson upon his 
shoulder, and in another moment, before he could 
offer any resistance, the steel bracelets were clasped 
firmly about his wrists. 

Meanwhile Tom had discovered Aileen, upon her 
knees and with bent head, in the rear of the church. 

He softly approached her and knelt reverently at 
her side. 

“My darling!” he whispered, softly. 

Aileen raised her head and looked at him. Then, 
as she realized all that his presence meant, her whole 
being thrilled .with joy. Her hand slipped into his, 
and the two, speechless with rapture, sent up a 
fervent prayer of thanksgiving for the happiness 
vouchsafed to them. 


252 


LIGHT AT LAST. 


The sun, which had been obscured by clouds dur- 
ing the day, burst forth from its prison, and, through 
one of the windows, poured forth a flood of golden 
radiance upon the kneeling figures of the lovers, a 
gracious omen of the happy days in store for those 
two faithful hearts. • 


[the End.] 


THE ROYAL BLUE LINE 


between New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, 
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The Double Track Line between Philadelphia 
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I. A. SWEIGARD, General Superintendent. 

C. GK HANCOCK, General Passenger Agent. 



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For maps, folders, doscriptive pamphlets, etc., apply to Pennsylvania 
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Assistant General Passenger Agent, Cincinnati, O. 

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VllflKUUT DIRECT ROUTE TO THE GREAT 


UIIMIUCI DDDNT1INS. 


Lake George, Lake Champlain, Ansable Chasm, the Adiron* 
dack Mountains, Saratoga, Round; Lake, Sharon 
Springs, Cooperstown, Howe’s Cave, and the 
Celebrated Gravity Railroad between Carbon- 
dale and Honesdale, Pa., present the 
greatest Combination of Health and Pleasure Resorts in America* 


_ THE DIRECT DINE TO THE SUPERB SUMMER HOTEL ~ 
OF THE NORTH, 


“THE HOTEL CHAMPLAIN,” 

(Three Miles South of Plattsburgh, on Lake Champlain). 


The Shortest and Most Comfortable Route 
Between New York and Montreal. 

(n Connection with the Erie Railway, the most Picturesque 
end Interesting Route between Chicago and Boston. 

The only through Pullman Line. 


Inclose Six Cents In Stamps for Illustrated Guide to 

w c. YOUNG* j. w. BURDICK, 

8d Vioe-Preeidentb ^ ©oa^Paai. A*ent» Albany, R. Ti 


QR/IND TRUNK 


AND 

OIKflQO sa QR/fflD TRUNK 
R/1ILW/1YS. 


Form the most Popular Route to the West 
Combining every Comfort and Luxury. 


PULLMAN AND WAGNER SLEEPERS ON ALL TRAINS. 


Solid Vestibuled Pullman 
Dining and Sleeping Car Trains 

Through from New York to Chicago without change 
Choice of route from 


NEW YORK to 


NIAGARA FALLS, SUSPENSION BRIDGE, 
TORONTO, DETROIT, PORT HURON, CHICAGO 

And the West, Northwest, and Southwest via 


The Celebrated St. Clair Tunnel, 

Which connects Ganada and the United States, and is the 
greatest submarine tunnel in the world. 

The Grand Trunk Railway is justly celebrated for its .Fish- 
ing and Hunting Resorts, as on and contiguous to it are the 
greatest grounds in the civilized world, among them being the 

Muskoka Lakes, St. Lawrence. River, Thousand 
Islands, Lake St. John Region, White 
Mountains, Androscoggin 

And many others too numerous to mention. 

For information apyly to office of Grand Trunk Railway at Boston, Mass. : 
Portland, Me. ; Montreal, P. Q_. ; Toronto, Ont. ; Buffalo, N. Y. ; Detroit, 

Mich., ar.d 


N. J. POWER, Gen’I Pass’r Agt., L. J. SEARGEANT, Gen’I Meng’r, 

MONTREAL .. P. Q. MONTREAL, P. Q. 

FRANK P. DWYER, E. P. Agt. C. & G. T. Ry., 

S73 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. 


WHEN 
YOU ARE 
THROUGH 

READING 

IT HIS BOOK'! 

Send me . . . 

SIX CENTS 

... for one that tells 
where you can spend 
your Vacation in . . . 

1896 . 

NORTHERN PACIFIC RAILROAD. 

CHARLES 8. FEE, 

Gen. Pass. -A-gent. 

ST. PAUL, 

Minn. 


CHOICE NOVEES 

BY 

The Author of Dr. Jack. 


These novels are copyrighted and can be had only in 
the Criterion Series. Paper, 50 cents. 

2. Dr. Jack. 

BY ST. GEORGE RATHBORNE. 

3. Dr. Jack's Wife. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. 

4. Miss Pauline of New York* 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. 

5. Captain Tom. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. 

6. Miss Caprice. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. 

7. Baron Sam. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. 

8. Monsieur Bob (new edition). 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. 

9. The Colonel by Brevet (new edition), 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. 

10. Major Matterson of Kentucky 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK. (new edition). 

1 3. The Nabob of Singapore (new). 

BY THE AUTHOR OF DR. JACK 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent 
postage free on receipt of price, by the publishers. 


GISMONDA. 

BY 

VICTORIEN SARDOU. 


A Novelization of the Celebrated Play, 

By A.. XX HALL 


The New York TForldsays: To “dramatize” a novel is common work} 
to “novelize” a play comparatively rare. The latest in this line is “Gis- 
monda,” in which Miss Fanny Davenport has been so successful, and Mr. 
A. I>. Hall lias told the story in a very interesting manner. 

Philadelphia Press : The story is an interesting one, and with a plot 
quite out of the common. 

Portland Oregonian : A story that holds the interest. 

Denver Republican : The characters are exceedingly well depicted. 
“Gismonda” will prove a favorite with the novel-reading public, and be- 
come one of the popular books of the season. 

Philadelphia Item : The kind of book which one sits over till he has 
finished the last word. It is a clever piece of literary work. 

New Orleans Picayune : It is needless to say, as it is Sardou’s creation, 
that it is of intense interest. 

Buffalo News : A vivid and powerful story. 

Brooklyn Eagle : The amplification into the novel is done by Mr. A. D* 
Hall, who presents a full and interesting picture of modern or rather me. 
dieval Greece. The plot is quite original. 

Milwaukee Journal : While its situations are dramatic, it is by no 
means stagy. 

Albany Argus : We have every reason to believe that the excellent 
novelization will achieve popularity. 

Boston Traveler : It has basis for great interest. 

Syracuse Herald : The “novelizator” seems to have acquitted himself 
fairly well, and to have transformed the play into a highly romantic story. 

Burlington Hawkeye : Excellent novelization, and without a dull mo- 
ment from beginning to end. 

Detroit Tribune : As the play has been a success, the novel will un- 
doubtedly prove one also. The story has a unique plot, and the characters 
are well depicted. 

Albany Times- Union : No play produced during the past year has 
made such an instantaneous and overwhelming success as that of “Gis- 
monda,” and we have every reason to believe that the excellent noveliza/ 1 
tion will achieve the same measure of popularity. 


G-ISMOKTUA is No. 1 of “Drama Series,” for sale by all 
Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 25 cents, to any address, 
postpaid, by STREET & SMITH, 2§-31 Rose St., New York, 


SHENANDOAH. 

A STORY OF SHERIDAN’S GREAT RIDE. 

BY 

J. P. TRACY. 


PRESS OPINIONS. 

New York World: “Shenandoah” is a story full of incidents and adven- 
ture, and very accurate historically. 

Minneapolis Tribune: Bright and interesting in plot. 

Brooklyn Standard-Union: “Shenandoah” is a spirited tale, and the 
dramatic descriptions of the battles of Winchester and Cedar Creek will be 
of stirring interest. The book has much of sterling merit.- 

Chicago Inter-Ocean: “Shenandoah” is the story of Sheridan’s famous 
ride, and the author, Mr. J. P. Tracy, shows a decided ability for martial 
romance. It is illustrated, and written in a spirited style and much 
exact information is given of the Shenandoah campaign and of the battles 
of Winchester and Cedar Creek. 

American Volunteer: “ Shenandoah ” is thrilling in plot, abounds in beau- 
tiful descriptions, and is faithful in details of Sheridan’s great ride from 
Winchester. It should be very interesting, the vicissitudes of war and the 
history aud romance are finely woven together. An exciting story. 

Philadelphia Item: “ Shenandoah ” is a stirring tale of the civil war, 
which has for its most exciting incident Sheridan’s wild ride from Win- 
chester. “Shenandoah ” is a very interesting story. Interwoven with the 
history of military genius and descriptions of life in the field is a charming 
tale of love, in which the reader will become absorbed. 

Saturday Mail: A thrilling story of Sheridan’s famous ride, by J. P. 
Tracy, replete with dramatic incident and teeming with good things. 

Salem Register: A most interesting love story is combined with one of 
the most famous incidents of the late war. A fascinating, romantic story, 
neatly illustrated. 

“ Shenandoah ” is a story that will hold the reader’s 
interest from first to last. It is a fascinating romance that 
has a dash and spirit to it that carries one along with its 
heroes, the captain and the drummer-boy, through adven- 
tures and “hair-breadth escapes,” that w T ill give one 
delightful little gasps of excitement, and the tale of love 
that is woven in it, shines like delicate silken strands 
tracing some quaint figure in a rougher fabric. 


is No. 67 of “Clover Series.” For 
sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, to any address, 
on receipt of price, 25 cents, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 25-31 Rose Street, New York, 


G. WALDO BROWNE. 


PRESS OPINIONS. 

Brooklyn Eagle: A fresh love story. 

Boston Journal: A thrilling narrative founded on Pickett’s last charge at 
Gettysburg. 

New York Recorder: A tale of the most dramatic event of the war. Well 
worth reading. 

Saturday Mail: A fascinating story. 

Brooklyn Standard-Union: A stirring novel. 

Indianapolis Sentinel: Pleasant reading to those interested in the events 
of war times, which are faithfully depicted. 

Bookseller, Stationer, and Newsdealer: “A Daughter of Maryland” is a 
story to quicken the blood and awaken the pity of all who read it. It 
vividly portrays the distress in families, some of whom espoused the cause 
of the North and some the South. 

American Volunteer: Very interesting. A realistic narrative. 

Sioux City Journal: “ A Daughter of Maryland,” illustrated, is entertain- 
ing reading. 

New York World: ‘‘A Daughter of Maryland” is a war novel crowded 
with incident and adventure, and the outlines historically accurate. 

“A Daughter of Maryland” is a charming love story, 
telling as it does with a thrilling interest and at times a 
tender pathos, a tale of true love whose rough and rugged 
course was so often turned by the vicissitudes of war, and 
“moving accidents by flood and field.” The reader will 
move in sympathy with the participants of this romantic 
tale, through all their trials, and gladly share the sorrows 
and the joys of the heroes, both men and women, whose 
love was tried by»the fire of war. 


A DAUGHTER OF 1 MARYLAND ia No. 68 of 
“Clover Series,” for sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, or sent, post- 
paid, to any address, on receipt of price, 25 cents, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 25-31 Rose Street, New York, 


A Gentleman from Gascony. 

BY BICKNELL DUDLEY. 


OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ! 

Brooklyn Standard- Union: A most captivating story. 

Buffalo Times: The story is full of dramatic situations. 

Pittsburgh Leader: It is a romance well worth reading. 

Philadelphia Call: An interesting and graphic story good for seashore, hammock or 
mountain. 

The New York World: A very charming novel of the romantic school, full of love 
and adventure. 

Albany Times: “A Gentleman from Gascony,” by Bicknell Dudley, is an exciting 
and well- told story. 

The, Brooklyn Citizen: The story is full of fine dramatic situations, and is never lack- 
ing in action. The author has the knack of holding the reader’s attention throughout 
the entire story. 

San Fi-ancisco Chronicle: “A Gemtleman from Gascony,” by Bicknell Dudley, while 
it at once recalls our dear old friends of the “Three Musketeers,” is a bright, clever, 
well-written and entertaining story. The book gives a graphic and vivid picture of 
one of the great historic epochs of France, 

Rochester Herald: It is a positive relief to turn from the morbid fancies of the 
Madame Grands and the Grant Allens to such a purely romantic love tale as “A 
Gentleman from Gascony,” by Bicknell Dudley, which Street & Smith publish in 
yellow covers, while deserving of more substantial garb. The story is a formidable 
rival of Mr. Stanley Weyman’s premier effort. 

Louisville Courier-Journal: It is a thoroughly readable novel that Bicknell Dud- 
ley has contributed to current literature under the title of “A Gentleman from Gas- 
cony.” Although the title recalls Stanley Weyman’s “Gentleman of France” and the 
scenes of both stories are laid in the time of Henri of Navarre, they are not alike, save 
in the fact that both the “Gentleman of France,” and the “Gentleman from Gascony” 
are heroes in the fullest sense of-the term from a romantic standpoint.. 

Pittsburgh Press: Bicknell Dudley has written another story, based on French his- 
tory, around the time of the St. Bartholomew massacre. It is a tale of adventure with 
a single hero, who embodies in himself the wile of an Aramis, the strength of a Por- 
thos, and the gallantry of a D’Artagnan. The adventures of the Chevalier de Puyca- 
dere are, even if impossible in these days, still redolent of the times of knight errantry, 
when every good sword won its way and was faithful. Although he was an illustrious 
chevalier both in love and war, he was certainly no chevalier d’industrie, and happily 
comes out triumphant. 

The Argus, Albany, N. Y: The hero is a young Gascon full of dash and courage, of 
good blood but impoverished estates, who comes to Paris to seek his fortune. This 
he accomplishes after many adventures, sometimes by bravado, sometimes by brav- 
ery. There is a strong love story between Gabrielle de Vrissac, a maid of honor to the 
Queen of Navarre, and the Gascon, Raoul de Puycadere. Many historical characters 
figure among them— Henri of Navarre, Marguerite de Valois, Catherine de Medicis, 
and Charles IX., and Admiral Coliquy. The author, Bicknell Dudley, exhibits literary 
ability of the very first order. 

Baltimore American: “A Gentleman from Gascony,” by Bicknell Dudley. This is 
a tale of the time of Charles IX., the story opening in the year 1572. Raoul de Puy- 
cadere is of a noble family, but his possessions have been squandered by his ancestors, 
and he leaves for Paris to better his position at court. He arrives on the eve of the 
massacre of St. Bartholomew, and his lady love, Gabrielle, having heard of the con- 
templated killing, binds a sign on his arm to protect him. By great good luck he is 
made equerry to the King of Navarre, and between his duties as equerry and his love- 
making passes through many exciting adventures. 

“A Gentleman from Gascony ” is No. 11 of the Criterion Series. 
For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent postage 
free on receipt of price, fifty cents, by the publishers. 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Rose Street, New York. 


MORE THAN THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND OF JULIA 
EDWARDS ' NOVELS HAVE BEEN SOLD. 


Julia Edwards’ Novels. 


A poor girl with the dangerous heritage of beauty 
must needs possess a heart as true as steel to escape the 
traps set to ensnare her by designing men. No living 
writer is the equal of Julia Edwards in the vivid portrayal 
of the struggles and triumphs of the brave daughters of 
the people — the working girls of our great cities. 

These novels are copyrighted and can be had only in 
the Clover Series. Paper, 25 cents. Cloth, one dollar. 

41— Prettiest of All. By Julia Edwards. 

42— The Little Widow. By Julia Edwards. 

43— Beautiful but Poor. By Julia Edwards. 

44 — Sadia the Rosebud. By Julia Edwards. 

45 — Laura Bray ton. By Julia Edwards. 

46— Stella Sterling. By Julia Edwards. 

47— He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. By Julia Edwards. 

Julia Edwards’ heroines are all taken from real life, 
and the spirited action of the story holds the attention 
and interest of the reader without intermission from 
cover to cover. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent 
postage free on receipt of price, by the publishers. 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Rose Street, New York. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 

BY NEIL BURBESS. 


It is a spirited romance of town and 
country, and a faithful reproduction of 
the drama, with the same unique char- 
acters, the same graphic scenes, but with 
the narrative more artistically rounded 
and completed than was possible in th* 
brief limits of a dramatic representation. 
This touching story effectively demon- 
strates that it is possible to produce a 
novel which is at once wholesome and 
interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought or 
suggestion. Bead the following 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ; 

Mr. Neil Burgess has rewritten his play, “The County Fair,” in story-form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going the memory and imagination of those who have seen the 
latter, and whet the appetite for the rest of this lively conception of a live dramatist. — 
Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York foralong time, the general 
public out of town may be glad to learn that the playwright has put the piece into print 
in the form of a story. A tale based upon a play may sometimes lack certain literary 
qualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
tunately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful.— N. Y. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. The 
latest book of this description is a story reproducing the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ play, “The Countv Fair.” The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, follows closely the lines of the drama in 
story and plot. — Chicago Daily News. 

Mr. Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair,” has been received with such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It 
will be enjoyed even by those who have never seen the play and still more by those 
who have.— Cincinnati Times-Star. 

This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the introduction of 
an impure thought or suggestion.— Albany Press. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name, and is an affecting and vivid story of domestic life, joy, and 
sorrow, and rural scenes.— San Francisco Call. 

This romance is written from the play of this name, and is full of touching inci- 
dents. — Evansville Journal. 

It is founded on the popular play of the same name, in which Neil Burgess, who is 
also Ifae author of the story, has achieved the dramatic success of the season.— Fall 
River Herald. 



Tiro County IPair Is No. 7 of “Drama Series,” for 
sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, Q5 cents, to any 

address, postpaid, by STREET & SMITH, 35-31 Rose St., New York. 



DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD 


STREET & SMITH’S DRAMA SERIES No. 6. 


IPrice* 25 Cents. 


Some Opinions of the Press. 

"As the probabilities are remote of the play ‘The Old Homestead’ being seen any- 
where but in large cities, it is only fair that the story of the piece should be printed. Like 
most stories written from plays, it contains a great d<?al which is not said or done on the 
boards, yet it is no more verbose than such a story should be, and it gives some good 
pictures of the scenes and people who for a year or more have been delighting thous- 
ands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tildy, Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mythical Rill Jones, 
the sheriff and all the other characters are here, beside some new ones. It is to be 
hoped that the book will make a large sale, not only on its merits, but that other play 
owners may feel encouraged to let their works be read by the many thousands who 
cannot hope to see them on the stage.”— N. Y. Herald , June 2d. 

"Denman Thompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ is a story of clouds and sunshine alter- 
nating over a venerated home; of a grand old man, honest and blunt, who loves his 
honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned in learning of the 
deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country tite, love and jealousy, with- 
out an impure thought, and with the healthy flavor of the fields in every chapter. It 
is founded on Denman Thompson’s drama of ‘The Old Homestead.’”— N. Y. Press 
May 26th. 

"Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New York Weekly, have brought out in 
book-form the story of ‘The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced by Mr. Den- 
man Thompson, has met with such wondrous success. It will probably have a great 
sale, thus justifying fhe foresight of the publishers in giving the drama this permanent 
fiction form.” — N. Y. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

"The popularity of Denman Thompson’s play of ‘The Old Homestead,’ has encour- 
aged Street & Smith, evidently with his permission, to publish a good-sized novel with 
the same title, set in the same scenes and including the same characters and more too. 
The book is a fair match for the play in the simple good taste and real ability with 
which it is written. The publishers are Street A Smith, and they have gotten the vol- 
ume up in cheap popular form.” — N. Y. Graphic, May 29. 

"Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ is familiar, at least by reputa- 
tion, to every play-goer in the country. Its truth to nature and its simple pathos have 
been admirably preserved in this story, which is founded upon it and follows its inci- 
dents closely. The requirements of the stage make the action a little hurried at times, 
but the scenes described are brought before the mind’s eye with remarkable vividnesa 
and the portrayal of life in the little New England town is almost perfect. Those who 
have never seen the play can get an excellent idea of what it is like from the book. 
Both are free from sentimentality and sensation, and are remarkably healthy in 
tone.”— Albany Express. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘Old Homestead’ has been put into story-form and is issued 
by Street & Smith. The story will somewhat explain to those who have not seen it the 
great popularity of the play.” — Brooklyn Times, June 8th. 

“The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ is world-wide. Tens of 
thousands have enjoyed it, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure they took in 
its representation. This is the story told in narrative form, as well as it was told on the 
stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they have seen the play or not”— National 
Tribune, Washington, D. C. 

"Here we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the peaked 
roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear old Swanzey, and the story which, 
dramatized, has packed the largest theater in New York, and has been a success every- 
where, because of its true and sympathetic touches of nature. All the incidents which 
have held audiences spell-bound are here recorded — the accusation of robbery directed 
against the innocent boy, his shame, and leaving home; the dear old Aunt Tilda, who 
has been courted for thirty years by the mendacious Cy Prime, who has never had the 
courage to propose; the fall of the country boy into the temptations of city life, and his 
recovery by the good old man who braves the metropolis to find him. The story em 
bodies all that the play tells, and all that it suggests as well .’*— Kansas City Journal 
May 27th. 


THE CRITERION SERIEb 


Paper Edition , 50 Cents . 

In presenting this series of high-class novels to the 
public we take pride in announcing that every number 
will be of the highest merit, printed in the best style on 
:he first quality of paper. This series will be our best, 
Doth as regards contents and appearance. 


No. 1. Mr. Lake of Chicago. 

By Harry DuBois Milman. 

No. 2. Dr. Jack. 

By St. George Rathborne. 

No. 3. Dr. Jack’s Wife. 

By the Author of Dr. Jack. 

No. 4. Miss Pauline of New York. 

By the Author of Dr. Jack. 

No. 5. Captain Tom. 

By the Author of Dr. Jack. 

No. 6. Miss Caprice. 

By the Author of Dr. Jack. 

No. 7. Baron Sam. 

By the Author of Dr. Jack. 


For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent 
postage free on receipt of price, by the publishers. 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Rose Street, New v ork. 



THE BEST AND BRIGHTEST! 


Unanimously Acknowledged to be the 

G reatest Story an d Sketch Paper 

FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS AND NEWSDEALERS. 

BY MAIL $3 A YEAK, POSTAGE FREE. 


STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, 

25 to 31 Rose Street. New York. 


Jflall-ft 





















































* 


0 








OVER OISE MILLION OF MRS. GBORGIE SHELDON’S 
NOVELS HAVE BEEN SOLD. 


Mrs. Georgie Sheldon's 
Novels. 

These novels are copyrighted and can be had only in 
the Clover Series. Paper, 25 cents. Cloth, one dollar. 


1 — Lost, a Pearle. By Mrs Georgie Sheldon 

2 -Stella liosevelt. Bv Mrs Georgie Sheldon 

3— Sibyl's 1 utiueiicc. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 

4— Trixy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

5 — A True Aristocrat. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 

6 — Max. By Mrs Georgie Sheldon. 

7 — Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 

8 — Thrice Wedded. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon 

9 — Witch Hazel. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

10 — Virgie’s Inheritance. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

11 — Audrey’s Recompense (new). By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

12— Ruby’s Reward. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

13— Edrie’s Legacy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

14— Tina. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

15 -That Dowdy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

16- Geoffrey’s Victory. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

48 - Wedded by Fate (new). By Mrs Georgie Sheldon. 
55— Mona (new). By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent 
postage free on receipt of price, by the publishers. 

STREET & SMITH, 

25 to 31 Rose Street. New York. 


We Unhesitatingly Assert that 



as now constructed are superior 
to all other Pianos manufact- 
ured and absolutely 

CONQUER ALL COMPETITION. 

CHICKERING & SONS, 

Cor. 18th St., 130 Fifth Ave. 


8B* 43^ 














